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X 





LIBRARY FOR 
YOUNG PEOPLE 

A COLLECTION OF THE BEST READING 
FOR BOYS AND GIRLS 

WALTE R CAM P 

EDITOR-IN-CHIEF, ASSISTED BY THE FOLLOWING EDITORIAL STAFF 

CHARLES WELSH RICHARD H. DANA 

ARTHUR T. HADLEY UEUTENANT ROBERT E. PEARY 

BENJAMIN IDE WHEELER EDWARD BROOKS 

SIR EDWIN ARNOLD PROFESSOR W. P. TRENT 

ANSON PHELPS STOKES. JR. C. G. D. ROBERTS 

BLISS CARMAN HENRY S. PRITCHETT 

CYNTHIA WESTOVER ALDEN OPIE READ 

HOWARD PYLE ABBIE FARWELL BROWN 

EDWIN KIRK RAWSON NATHAN H. DOLE 

THOMAS WENTWORTH HIGGINSON 

WITH A GENERAL INTRODUCTION BY MELVIL DEWEY 

ARRANGED BY PHIUP P. WELLS OF THE YALE 
LAW UBRARY, AND HARRY T. CLINTON 

ILLUSTRATED IN COLOR AND BLACK AND WHITE 



NEW YORK 

P. F. COLLIER ^ SON 

MCMIII 


\ 

\ 


BOARD OF EDITORS 


WALTER CAMP, Editor-in-Chief. 

MELVIL DEWEY, Director of New York State Library. 

PHILIP P. WELLS, Librarian Yale Law School. 

C. G. D. ROBERTS, Editor and Historian. 

CHARLES WELSH, Author, Lecturer, Managing Editor “Young 
Folks’ Library.” 

ARTHUR T. HADLEY, President Yale University. 

BENJAMIN IDE WHEELER, President University of California. 

SIR EDWIN ARNOLD, Author, Traveller, and Poet. Author of 
“The Light of Asia,” -etc. 

ANSON PHELPS STOKES, Jr., Author and Educator. Secretary 
Yale University. 

CYNTHIA WESTOVER ALDEN, Author, Editor. Founder Interna- 
tional Sunshine Society. 

HOWARD PYLE, Artist-Author. Author and Illustrator of “The 
Merry Adventures of Robin Hood.” 

EDWARD KIRK RAWSON, Author. Superintendent Naval War 
Records. 

BLISS CARMAN, Journalist and Poet. 

HENRY S. PRITCHETT, President Massachusetts Institute of Tech- 
nology. 

RICHARD HENRY DANA, Lawyer, Author and Lecturer. 

ROBERT E. PEARY, Lieutenant and Civil Engineer, U. S. N. Arctic 
Explorer, Author and Inventor. 

W. P. TRENT, Professor of English Literature, Columbia University. 

ABBIE FARWELL BROWN, Author of Children’s Stories. 

EDWARD BROOKS, Author, Superintendent Public Schools of Phila- 
delphia. 

THOMAS WENTWORTH HIGGINSON, Author. 

OPIE READ, Journalist and Author. 

NATHAN H. DOLE, Writer and Translator. 





I 











Xibrar^ for l^ouno people 


1 


TOM BROWN’S 
SCHOOL DAYS 

By THOMAS HUGHES 

M 

I 

WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY 

ARTHUR T. HADLEY 



NEW YORK 

P. F. COLLIER ^ SON 

1903 




THE LIBRARY OF 
CONGRESS. 

Two Copies Received 

JUL 29 1903 

Copyright Entry 
o , ft f ^ 
CUSS^ ^ XXc. No, 
G (o 0 2 ^ 

COPY B. 


' 


t. 


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Copyright 1903 

By P. F. collier & SON 


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INTRODUCTION 

HERE is an old story that at the close of one 
of Webster’s grandest speeches the local 
master of ceremonies rose and said : 
“Now, fellow citizens, that the words of 
the orator may not fall flat on your ears, I will add a 
few remarks.” In writing an introduction to “Tom 
Brown at Rugby” a man has need of all his wisdom to 
prevent his “few remarks” from seeming as superflu- 
ous as those ill-timed additions to the speech of 
Daniel Webster. 

“Tom Brown” is a unique piece of literature. 
There have been other books which deal with the 
stories of boys at school, and some of them have been 
exceedingly good ones. But Thomas Hughes has 
caught, as no other man has been able to catch, the 
very atmosphere of a school in all its fulness and 
vigor. He has done for the life of boys the same 
kind of thing which Shakespeare has done for the life 
of grown men and women. In external form his 
writings and those of Shakespeare are as different as 
possible; but in their spirit and method of looking at 
the world they have a great many things in common. 
Like Shakespeare, “School Days at Rugby” has the 
swing and dramatic movement of actual life. While 
each chapter is a character sketch by itself, in the 

I 



Vol. i6— A 


Introduction 


same way that each scene of Shakespeare is a charac- 
ter sketch, the different parts do not constitute a set 
of separate studies. Each contributes its share to a 
story which carries you forward and leaves its actors 
— and its readers also — farther on at the end than 
they were at the beginning. The “School Days at 
Rugby” is like Shakespeare’s plays in this respect 
also, that the author draws every variety of character 
with understanding; and, in the case of all but the 
very worst boys, with unfeigned affection. Open- 
hearted or reserved, normal or abnormal, bold or shy, 
graceful or awkward, all the Rugby School figures 
have life in them. They give us something to love. 
We feel that they are real boys, whom the author 
cared for, and we wish that we had known them per- 
sonally. 

This reality, this many-sidedness, and this active 
life wifh which the book is filled, make the whole 
effect of “Tom Brown” a healthful one in the same 
way that the whole effect of “As You Like It” or 
“King Henry the Fifth” is healthful. It does not lin- 
ger over the stagnant waters which can breed disease. 
It takes us out into the open air. Of course some of 
the incidents which it describes are distressing, and 
some are hateful. The life of an English public 
school in the early half of the nineteenth century was 
much rougher than anything which exists on a large 
scale in England or America to-day. But taking 
good and bad together, the general effect of the book 


Introduction 


is one of encouragement and inspiration to the reader. 
It is a straightforward presentation of the whole life 
of a place where boys, with all their faults, are essen- 
tially vigorous and healthful. 

I know of no more charming instance of this effect 
than in the matchless chapter which describes the 
fight between Tom Brown and Slogger Williams. 
It deals with a form of human activity which we all 
want to restrain, and which a great many people 
would like to see abolished. And yet there is a cer- 
tain outdoor quality about the whole proceeding 
which makes us enjoy it in the same way that the boys 
did; and I suspect that all those of us who were ever 
young in spirit retain enough of our youth to have a 
feeling of regret when the Doctor appears on the 
scene and stops the fight just at the time when we are 
sure that something really decisive is going to hap- 
pen. In a world where so much fighting has to be 
done we recognize Williams, who fights because he 
is built that way and cannot help it, and Brown, who 
fights to protect his friend from abuse, as types of 
men for whom the country has had great use, and is 
likely to have use for some time to come; and when 
they shake hands after it is all over, we are sure that it 
is all over, and both boys the better, for having the 
bad stuff out of them. 

The externals of school life have changed greatly 
since the days when ^Tom Brown” was written. The 
barrack-like rooms, with rough board desks, have 
3 


Introduction 


given place to attractive lecture halls and labora- 
tories, which furnish many times better opportunities 
for learning. The master’s cane has given place to 
milder and probably more effective means of secur- 
ing discipline and stimulating interest in scholastic 
virtue. The Spartan simplicity of bedroom arrange- 
ments, which offered so many chances for abuse of 
the little boys, has given place to a better ordered sys- 
tem of dormitories and studies. The very games 
have altered in their appearance, and have become 
more highly organized; so that the spectator who is 
acquainted with Rugby football as it is to-day played 
on either side of the Atlantic stares in hopeless be- 
wilderment at parts of the account of the game which 
constituted Tom’s first initiation into his school life. 
But with all the change of conditions, the character 
of the drama remains the same. There are the same 
school friendships, which represent affection as in- 
tense as comes between man and man during a whole 
lifetime. There is the same school spirit, which 
gives a training in public spirit for those who are fit- 
ting themselves to be the future leaders of the coun- 
try. And there is the same wise guidance; for we 
can find in many an English or American school of 
the present day masters who exercise an influence like 
that of Dr. Arnold, all the more important because so 
often unrecognized, in making the school a place 
which shall bring out what is best in the boys who 
come under their influence. 

4 


Introduction 


But enough of all this. To one who has not read 
the book, no introduction can give any foretaste of 
that union of humor and pathos, that alternation of 
roughness and tenderness, with which every chapter 
is vivified. To one who has read it, and has entered 
into the spirit of the various scenes which it portrays 
— of home and of school, of study and of play, of 
fighting and of friendship, of physical vitality and of 
religious questioning — no preface, however appreci- 
ative, can serve to reach the heart of the matter. The 
book seems alive. It is a part of us who love it. It 
has made us stronger and broader than we could have 
been without it. 

Arnold of Rugby was a great man, and he did 
great work with boys of every type. He trained 
many a Brooke, old and young, to rule the assemblies 
of the British Empire; many an East to fight its bat- 
tles, many an Arthur to move its congregations. But 
never did he do greater work than when he inspired 
in Thomas Hughes that hero-worship which trans- 
formed a plain English gentleman into a genius of 
the first rank during the hours when he wrote under 
its influence. What seemed to its author to be little 
more than a collection of personal reminiscences of a 
life in which Arnold was the dominant figure, be- 
came the means of carrying Arnold’s message of 
Christian manhood to the ends of the earth, and trans- 
mitting it unimpaired to future generations. 

Arthur T. Hadley. 


5 


TO 


M RS. ARNOLD 


OF FOX HOWE 

THIS BOOK IS (without HER PERMISSION) 

DEDICATED 


BY THE AUTHOR 


WHO OWES MORE THAN HE CAN EVER ACKNOWLEDGE OR FORGET 


TO HER AND HERS 


6 


CONTENTS 


PART ONE 


The Brown Family . 

CHAPTER I 

The Veast 

CHAPTER II 

CHAPTER III 


Sundry Wars and Alliances 


The Stage Coach 

CHAPTER IV 

Rugby and Football 

CHAPTER V 

After the Match . 

CHAPTER VI 

CHAPTER VII 


Settling to the Collar . 

CHAPTER VIII 

The War of Independence 

CHAPTER IX 


A Chapter of Accidents . 


7 


Contents 

PART TWO 

CHAPTER I 

How THE Tide Turned ....... 242 

CHAPTER II 

The New Boy ...... . . 258 

CHAPTER III 

Arthur Makes a Friend ....... 275 

CHAPTER IV 

The Bird-Fanciers ........ 294 

CHAPTER V 

The Fight . . . . . . . . .312 

CHAPTER VI 

Fever in the School . . . . . . *335 

CHAPTER Vll 

Harry East’s Dilemmas and Deliverances . . . * 357 

CHAPTER VIll 

Tom Brown’s Last Match . . . . , *378 

CHAPTER IX 

Finis 406 


8 


PREFACE 


TO THE SIXTH EDITION 

I RECEIVED the following letter from an old friend 
soon after the last edition of this book was published, and 
resolved, if ever another edition were called for, to print 
it. For it is clear from this and other like comments, 
that something more should have been said expressly on 
the subject of bullying, and how it is to be met. 

'‘My dear : I blame myself for not having earlier suggested 

whether you could not, in another edition of Tom Brown, or another 
story, denounce more decidedly the evils of bullying at schools. You have 
indeed done so, and in the best way, by making Flashman the bully the 
most contemptible character ; but in that scene of the tossings and similar 
passages, you hardly suggest that such things should be stopped — and do 
not suggest any means of putting an end to them. 

“This subject has been on my mind for years. It fills me with grief 
and misery to think what weak and nervous children go through at school 
— how their health and character for life are destroyed by rough and brutal 
treatment. 

“It was some comfort to be under the old delusion that fear and ner- 
vousness can be cured by violence, and that knocking about will turn a timid 
boy into a bold one. But now we know well enough that is not true. 
Gradually training a timid child to do bold acts would be most desirable; 
but frightening him and ill-treating him will not make him courageous. 
Every medical man knows the fatal effects of terror, or agitation, or excite- 

9 


Preface 


ment, to nerves that are over-sensitive. There are different kinds of courage, 
as you have shown in your character of Arthur. 

“A boy may have moral courage, and a finely organized brain and 
nervous system. Such a boy is calculated, if judiciously educated, to be a 
great, wise, and useful man; but he may not possess animal courage; and 
one night’s tossing, or bullying, may produce such an injury to his brain 
and nerves that his usefulness is spoiled for life. I verily believe that hun- 
dreds of noble organizations are thus destroyed every year. Horse jockeys 
have learned to be wiser; they know that a highly nervous horse is utterly 
destroyed by harshness. A groom who tried to cure a shying horse by 
roughness and violence would be discharged as a brute and a fool. A 
man who would regulate his watch with a crowbar would be considered 
an ass. But the person who thinks a child of delicate and nervous organi- 
zation can be made bold by bullying is no better. 

“ He can be made bold by healthy exercise games and sports; but 
that is quite a different thing. And even these games and sports should 
bear some proportion to his strength and capacities. 

“I very much doubt whether small children should play with big ones 
— the rush of a set of great fellows at football, or the speed of* a cricket- 
ball sent by a strong hitter, must be very alarming to a mere child, to a 
child who might stand up boldly enough among children of his own size 
and height. 

“Look at half a dozen small children playing cricket by themselves; 
how feeble are their blows, how slowly they bowl. You can measure in 
that way their capacity. 

“Tom Brown and his eleven were bold enough playing against an 
eleven of about their own calibre; but I suspect they would have been in 
a precious funk if they had played against eleven giants, whose bowling 
bore the same proportion to theirs that theirs does to the small children’s 
above. 

“To return to the tossing. I must say I think some means might be 
devised to enable schoolboys to go to bed in quietness and peace — and that 
some means ought to be devised and enforced. No good, moral or phys- 
ical, to those who bully or those who are bullied, can ensue from such 

lO 


Preface 


scenes as take place in the dormitories of schools. I suspect that British 
wisdom and ingenuity are sufficient to discover a remedy for this evil, if 
directed in the right direction. 

“The fact is, that the condition of a small boy at a large school is one 
of peculiar hardship and suffering. He is entirely at the mercy of pro- 
verbially the roughest things in the universe — great schoolboys; and he is 
deprived of the protection which the weak have in civilized society; for he 
may not complain; if he does, he is an outlaw — he has no protector but 
public opinion, and that a public opinion of the very lowest grade, the 
opinion of rude and ignorant boys. 

“What do schoolboys know of those deep questions of moral and 
physical philosophy, of the anatomy of mind and body, by which the treat- 
ment of a child should be regulated f 

“ Why should the laws of civilization be suspended for schools ? Why 
should boys be left to herd together with no law but that of force or cun- 
ning } What would become of society if it were constituted on the same 
principles ? It would be plunged into anarchy in a week. 

“One of our judges, not long ago, refused to extend the protection 
of the law to a child who had been ill-treated at school. If a party of 
navvies had given him a licking, and he had brought the case before a 
magistrate, what would he have thought if the magistrate had refused to 
protect him, on the ground that if such cases were brought before him he 
might have fifty a day from one town only ? 

“Now I agree with you that a constant supervision of the master is 
not desirable or possible — and that telling tales,* or constantly referring to 
the master for protection, would only produce ill-will and worse treatment. 

“ If I rightly understand your book, it is an effort to improve the con- 
dition of schools by improving the tone of morality and public opinion 
in them. But your book contains the moct indubitable proofs that the 
condition of the younger boys at public schools, except under the rare dic- 
tatorship of an Old Brooke, is one of great hardship and suffering. 

“A timid and nervous boy is from morning till night in a state of 
bodily fear. He is constantly tormented when trying to learn his lessons. 
His play-hours are occupied in fagging, in a horrid funk of cricket-balls 

1 1 


Preface 


and foot-balls, and the violent sport of creatures who, to him, are giants. 
He goes to his bed in fear and trembling — worse than the reality of the 
rough treatment to which he is perhaps subjected. 

“ I believe there is only one complete remedy. It is not in magisterial 
supervision; nor in telling tales; nor in raising the tone of public opinion 
among schoolboys — but in the separation of boys of dijferent ages into 
different schools, 

‘‘There should be at least different classes of schools — the first 
for boys from nine to twelve; the second for boys from twelve to fifteen; 
the third for those above fifteen. And these schools should be in different 
localities. 

“ There ought to be a certain amount of supervision by the master at 
those times when there are special occasions for bullying, e.g. in the long 
winter evenings, and when the boys are congregated together in the bed- 
rooms. Surely it cannot be an impossibility to keep order and protect 
the weak at such times. Whatever evils might arise from supervision, they 
could hardly be greater than those produced by a system which divides 
boys into despots and slaves. 

“Ever yours, very truly, 

F. D.” 

The question of how to adapt English public school 
eaucation to nervous and sensitive boys (often the highest 
and noblest subjects which that education has to deal 
with) ought to be looked at from every point of view. 
I therefore add a few extracts from the letter of an old 
friend and schoolfellow, than whom no man in England 
is better able to speak on the subject : — 

“What’s the use of sorting the boys by ages, unless you do so by 
strength : and who are often the real bullies The strong young dog of 
fourteen, while the victim may be one year or two years older 
I deny the fact about the bedrooms : there is trouble at times, and always 

12 


Preface 


will be; but so there is in nurseries — my little girl, who looks like an 
angel, was bullying the smallest twice to-day. 

“Bullying must be fought with in other ways — by getting not only 
the Sixth to put it down, but the lower fellows to scorn it, and by eradi- 
cating mercilessly the incorrigible; and a master who really cares for his 
fellows is pretty sure to know instinctively who in his house are likely to 
be bullied, and, knowing a fellow to be really victimized and harassed, I 
am sure that he can stop it if he is resolved. There are many kinds 
of annoyance — sometimes of real cutting persecution for righteousness’ 
sake — that he can’t stop; no more could all the ushers in the world; 
but he can do very much in many ways to make the shafts of the 
wicked pointless. 

“ But though, for quite other reasons, I don’t like to see very young 
boys launched at a public school, and though I don’t deny (I wish I 
could) the existence from time to time of bullying, I deny its being a con- 
stant condition of school life, and still more, the possibility of meeting it 
by the means proposed. 

“I don’t wish to understate the amount of bullying that goes on, but 
my conviction is that it must be fought, like all school evils, but it more 
than any, by dynamics rather than mechanics^ by getting the fellows to re- 
spect themselves and one another, rather than by sitting by them with a 
thick stick.” 

And now, having broken my resolution never to 
write a Preface, there are just two or three things which 
I should like to say a word about. 

Several persons, for whose judgment I have the high- 
est respect, while saying very kind things about this book, 
have added, that the great fault of it is, “too much 
preaching'’; but they hope I shall amend in this matter 
should I ever write again. Now this I most distinctly 
decline to do. Why, my whole object in writing at all 

13 


Preface 


was to get the chance of preaching ! When a man comes 
to my time of life and has his bread to make, and very 
little time to spare, is it likely that he will spend almost 
the whole of his yearly vacation in writing a story just to 
amuse people? I think not. At any rate, I wouldn't 
do so myself. 

The fact is, that I can scarcely ever call on one of my 
contemporaries nowadays without running across a boy 
already at school, or just ready to go there, whose bright 
looks and supple limbs remind me of his father, and our 
first meeting in old times. I can scarcely keep the Latin 
Grammar out of my own house any longer ; and the sight 
of sons, nephews, and godsons, playing trap-bat-and-ball, 
and reading ‘‘ Robinson Crusoe," makes one ask oneself, 
whether there isn't something one would like to say to 
them before they take their first plunge into the stream 
of life, away from their own homes, or while they are yet 
shivering after the first plunge. My sole object in writ- 
ing was to preach to boys : if ever I write again, it will be 
to preach to some other age. I can't see that a man has 
any business to write at all unless he has something which 
he thoroughly believes and wants to preach about. If he 
has this, and the chance of delivering himself of it, let 
him by all means put it in the shape in which it will be 
most likely to get a hearing ; but let him never be so 
carried away as to forget that preaching is his object. 


Preface 


A black soldier, in a West Indian regiment, tied up 
to receive a couple of dozen, for drunkenness, cried out 
’lo his captain, who was exhorting him to sobriety in fu- 
ture, ‘‘ Cap’n, if you preachee, preachee ; and if floggee, 
floggee ; but no preachee and floggee too ! ” to which his 
captain might have replied, ‘‘No, Pompey, I must preach 
whenever I see a chance of being listened to, which I 
never did before ; so now you must have it all together ; 
and I hope you may remember some of it.” 

There is one point which has been made by several 
of the Reviewers who have noticed this book, and it is 
one which, as I am writing a Preface, I cannot pass over. 
They have stated that the Rugby undergraduates they 
remember at the Universities were “a solemn array,” 
“ boys turned into men before their time,” “a semi-politi- 
cal, semi-sacerdotal fraternity,” etc., giving the idea that 
Arnold turned out a set of young square-toes, who wore 
long-fingered black gloves and talked with a snuffle. 
1 can only say that their acquaintance must have been 
limited and exceptional. For I am sure that every one 
who has had anything like large or continuous knowledge 
of boys brought up at Rugby from the times of v/hich 
this book treats down to this day, will bear me out in 
saying that the mark by which you may know them 
is their genial and hearty freshness and youthfulness of 
character. They lose nothing of the boy that is worth 

15 


Preface 


keeping, but build up the man upon it. This is their / 
differentia as Rugby boys ; and if they never had it, or have / 
lost it, it must be, not because they were at Rugby, but 
in spite of their having been there ; the stronger it is in 
them the more deeply you may be sure have they drun^ 
of the spirit of their school. 

But this boyishness in the highest sense is not incom- 
patible with seriousness — or earnestness, if you like the 
word better. Quite the contrary. And I’ can well be- 
lieve that casual observers, who have never been intimate 
with Rugby boys of the true stamp, but have met them 
only in the every-day society of the Universities, at wines, 
breakfast parties, and the like, may have seen a good deal 
more of the serious or earnest side of their characters than 
of any other. For the more the boy was alive in them 
the less will they have been able to conceal their thoughts, 
or their opinion of what was taking place under their 
noses ; and if the greater part of that didn’t square with 
their notions of what was right, very likely they showed 
pretty clearly that it did not, at whatever risk of being 
taken for young prigs. They may be open to the charge 
of having old heads on young shoulders ; I think they are, 
and always were, as long as I can remember ; but so long 
as they have young hearts to keep head and shoulders in 
order, I, for one, must think this only a gain. 

And what gave Rugby boys this character, and has 

i6 


Preface 


enabled the School, I believe, to keep it to this day? I 
say fearlessly — Arnold’s teaching and example — above 
all, that part of it which has been, I will not say sneered 
at, but certainly not approved — his unwearied zeal in 
creating “ moral thoughtfulness ” in every boy with whom 
he came into personal contact. 

He certainly did teach us — thank God for it ! — that 
we could not cut our life into slices and say, “ In this 
slice your actions are indifferent, and you needn’t trouble 
your heads about them one way or another; but in 
this slice mind what you are about, for they are im- 
portant” — a pretty muddle we should have been in had 
he done so. He taught us that in this wonderful world, 
no boy or man can tell which of his actions is indifferent 
and which not ; that by a thoughtless word or look we 
may lead astray a brother for whom Christ died. He 
taught us that life is a whole, made up of actions and 
thoughts and longings, great and small, noble and ig- 
noble ; therefore the only true wisdom for boy or man is 
to bring the whole life into obedience to Him whose 
world we live in, and who has purchased us with His 
blood ; and that whether we eat or drink, or whatsoever 
we do, we are to do all in His name and to His glory ; 
in such teaching, faithfully, as it seems to me, following 
that of Paul of Tarsus, who was in the habit of meaning 
what he said, and who laid down this standard for every 

17 


Preface 


man and boy in his time. I think it lies with those who 
say that such teaching will not do for us now, to show 
why a teacher in the nineteenth century is to preach a 
lower standard than one in the first. 

However, I won’t say that the Reviewers have not a 
certain plausible ground for their dicta. For a short time 
after a boy has taken up such a life as Arnold would have 
urged upon him, he has a hard time of it. He finds his 
judgment often at fault, his body and intellect running 
away with him into all sorts of pitfalls, and himself com- 
ing down with a crash. The more seriously he buckles 
to his work the oftener these mischances seem to happen ; 
and in the dust of his tumbles and struggles, unless he is 
a very extraordinary boy, he may often be too severe on 
his comrades, may think he sees evil in things innocent, 
may give offence when he never meant it. At this stage 
of his career, I take it, our Reviewer comes across him, 
and, not looking below the surface (as a Reviewer ought 
to do), at once sets the poor boy down for a prig and a 
Pharisee, when in all likelihood he is one of the humblest 
and truest and most childlike of the Reviewer’s acquaint- 
ance. 

But let our Reviewer come across him again in a year 
or two, when the “ thoughtful life ” has become habitual 
to him, and fits him as easily as his skin; and, if he be 
honest, I think he will see cause to reconsider his judg- 

i8 


Preface 


merit. For he will find the boy, grown into a man, en- 
joying every-day life as no man can who has not found 
out whence comes the capacity for enjoyment, and who is 
the Giver of the least of the good things of this world — 
humble, as no man can be who has not proven his own 
powerlessness to do right in the smallest act which he 
ever had to do — tolerant, as no man can be who does not 
live daily and hourly in the knowledge of how Perfect 
Love is forever about his path, and bearing with and 
upholding him. 


19 



TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL DAYS 


CHAPTER I 

THE BROWN FAMILY 

“I’m the Poet of White Horse Vale, sir, 

With liberal notions under my cap.” 

-Ballad. 

T he Browns have become illustrious by the pen 
of Thackeray and the pencil of Doyle within the 
memory of the young gentlemen who are now 
matriculating at the Universities. Notwithstanding the 
well-merited but late fame which has now fallen upon 
them, any one at all acquainted with the family must feel 
that much has yet to be written and said before the British 
nation will be properly sensible of how much of its great- 
ness it owes to the Browns. For centuries, in their quiet, 
dogged, homespun way, they have been subduing the 
earth in most English counties, and leaving their mark 
in American forests and Australian uplands. Wherever 
the fleets and armies of England haVe won renown, there 
stalwart sons of the Browns have done yeoman’s work. 
With the yew bow and cloth-yard shaft at Cressy and 
Agincourt — with the brown bill and pike under the brave 
Lord Willoughby — with culverin and demi-culverin 
against Spaniards and Dutchmen — with hand-grenade 
and sabre, and musket and bayonet, under Rodney and 
21 


Tom Brown’s School Days^ 

St. Vincent, Wolfe and Moore, Nelson and Wellington, 
they have carried their lives in their hands; getting hard 
knocks and hard work in plenty, which was on the whole 
what they looked for, and the best thing for them; and 
little praise or pudding, which indeed they and most of 
us are better without. Talbots and Stanleys, St. Maurs, 
and such-like folk, havo led armies, and made laws time 
out of mind ; but those noble families would be somewhat 
astounded — if the accounts ever came to be fairly taken 
— to find how small their work for England has been by 
the side of that of the Browns. 

These latter, indeed, have until the present genera- 
tion rarely been sung by poet, or chronicled by sage. 
They have wanted their ‘‘sacer vates,” having been too 
solid to rise to the top by themselves, and not having 
been largely gifted with the talent of catching hold of, 
and holding on tight to, whatever good things happened 
to be going — the foundation of the fortunes of so many 
noble families. But the world goes on with its way, and 
the wheel turns, and the wrongs of the Browns, like other 
wrongs, seem in a fair way to get righted. And • this 
present writer having for many years of his life been a 
devout Brown - wors*hipper, and moreover having the 
honor of being nearly connected with an eminently re- 
spectable branch of the great Brown family, is anxious, 
so far as in him lies, to help the wheel over, and throw 
his stone on to the pile. 

However, gentle reader, or simple reader, whichever 
you may be, lest you should be led to waste your pre- 
22 


The Brown Family 

cious time upon these pages, I make so bold as at once to 
tell you the sort of folk you’ll have to meet and put up 
with, if you and I are to jog on comfortably together. 
You shall hear at once what sort of folk the Browns are, 
at least my branch of them ; and then if you don’t like 
the sort, why, cut the concern at once, and let you and I 
cry quits before either of us can grumble at the other. 

In the first place, the Browns are a fighting family. 
One may question their wisdom, or wit, or beauty, but 
about their fight there can be no question. Wherever 
hard knocks of any kind, visible or invisible, are going, 
there the Brown who is nearest must shove in his carcass. 
And these carcasses for the most part answer very well to 
the characteristic propensity; they are a square-headed 
and snake-necked generation, broad in the shoulder, 
deep in the chest and thin in the flank, carrying no lum- 
ber. Then for clanship, they are as bad as Highlanders; 
it is amazing the belief they have in one another. With 
them there is nothing like the Browns, to the third and 
fourth generation. “Blood is thicker than water,” is one 
of their pet sayings. They can’t be happy unless they 
are always meeting one another. Never were such peo- 
ple for family gatherings, which, were you a stranger, or 
sensitive, you might think had better not have been 
gathered together. For during the whole time of their 
being together they luxuriate in telling one another their 
minds on whatever subject turns up; and their minds are 
wonderfully antagonist, and all their opinions are down- 
right beliefs. Till you’ve been among them some time 

23 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

and understand them, you can’t think but that they are 
quarrelling. Not a bit of it; they love and respect one 
another ten times the more after a good set family argu- 
ing bout, and go back, one to his curacy, another to his 
chambers, and another to his regiment, freshened for 
work, and more than ever convinced that the Browns are 
the height of company. 

This family training too, combined with their turn for 
combativeness, makes them eminently quixotic. They 
can’t let anything alone which they think going wrong. 
They must speak their mind about it, annoying all easy- 
going folk; and spend their time and money in having a 
tinker at it, however hopeless the job. It is an impos- 
sibility to a Brown to leave the most disreputable lame 
dog on the other side of a stile. Most other folk get 
tired of such work. The old Browns, with red faces, 
white whiskers, and bald heads, go on believing and fight- 
ing to a green old age. They have always a crotchet 
going, till the old man with the scythe reaps and garners 
them away for troublesome old boys as they are. 

And the most provoking thing is, that no failures 
knock them up or make them hold their hands, or think 
you, or me, or other sane people in the right. Failures 
slide off them like July rain off a duck’s back feathers. 
Jem and his whole family turn out bad, and cheat them 
one week, and the next they are doing the same thing for 
Jack; and when he goes to the treadmill, and his wife 
and children to the workhouse, they will be on the look- 
out for Bill to take his place. 

24 


The Brown Family 

However, it is time for us to get from the general to 
the particular; so, leaving the great army of Browns, who 
are scattered over the whole empire on which the sun 
never sets, and whose general diffusion I take to be the 
chief cause of that empire's stability, let us at once fix 
our attention upon the small nest of Browns in which 
our hero was hatched, and which dwelt in that portion 
of the royal county of Berks which is called the Vale of 
White Horse. 

Most of you have probably travelled down the Great 
Western Railway as far as Swindon. Those of you who 
did so with their eyes open have been aware, soon after 
leaving the Didcot station, of a fine range of chalk hills 
running parallel with the railway on the left hand side as 
you go down, and distant some two or three miles, more 
or less, from the line. The highest point in the range is 
the White Horse Hill, which you come in front of just 
before you stop at the Shrivenham station. If you love 
English scenery, and have a few hours to spare, you can't 
do better, the next time you pass, than to stop at the 
Farringdon-road or Shrivenham station, and make your 
way to that highest point. And those who care for the 
vague old stories that haunt country sides all about Eng- 
land, will not, if they are wise, be content with only a 
few hours' stay ; for, glorious as the view is, the neighbor- 
hood is yet more interesting for its relics of bygone times. 
I only know two English neighborhoods thoroughly, 
and in each, within a circle of five miles, there is enough 
of interest and beauty to last any reasonable man his life. 

25 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

I believe this to be case almost throughout the country ; 
but each has a special attraction, and none can be richer 
than the one I am speaking of and going to introduce 
you to very particularly ; for on this subject I must be 
prosy; so those that don’t care for England in detail may 
skip the chapter. 

O young England! young England! You who are 
born into these racing railroad times, when there’s a 
Great Exhibition, or some monster sight, every year; and 
you can get over a couple of thousand miles of ground 
for three pound ten, in a five weeks’ holiday; why don’t 
you know more of your own birthplaces? You’re all in 
the ends of the earth, it seems to me, as soon as you get 
your necks out of the educational collar, for midsummer 
holidays, long vacations, or what not. Going round Ire- 
land, with a return ticket, in a fortnight ; dropping your 
copies of Tennyson on the tops of Swiss mountains ; or 
pulling down the Danube in Oxford racing-boats. And 
when you get home for a quiet fortnight, you turn the 
steam oflF, and lie on your backs in the paternal garden, 
surrounded by the last batch of books from Mudie’s li- 
brary, and half bored to death. Well, well ! I know it has 
its good side. You all patter French more or less, and 
perhaps German; you have seen men and cities, no doubt, 
and have your opinions, such as they are, about schools 
of painting, high art, and all that ; have seen the pictures 
at Dresden and the Louvre, and know the taste of sour 
krout. All I say is, you don’t know your own lanes and 
woods and fields. Though you may be chock-full of 
26 


The Brown Family 

science, not one in twenty of you knows where to find 
the wood-sorrel or bee-orchis which grows in the next 
wood or on the down three miles off, or what the bog- 
bean and wood-sage are good for. And as for the coun- 
try legends, the stories of the old gable-ended farmhouses, 
the place where the last skirmish was fought in the civil 
wars, where the parish butts stood, where the last high- 
wayman turned to bay, where the last ghost was laid by 
the parson, they're gone out of date altogether. 

Now, in my time, when we got home by the old coach 
which put us down at the cross-roads with our boxes, the 
first day of the holidays, and had been driven off by the 
family coachman singing “ Duke Domum ” at the top 
of our voices, there we were, fixtures, till black Monday 
came round. We had to cut out our own amusements 
within a walk or ride of home. And so we got to know 
all the country folk, and their ways and songs and stories 
by heart; and went over the fields, and woods, and hills, 
again and again, till we made friends of them all. We 
were Berkshire, or Gloucestershire, or Yorkshire boys, 
and you’re young cosmopolites, belonging to all counties 
and no countries. No doubt it’s all right — I dare say it 
is. This is the day of large views and glorious human- 
ity, and all that ; but I wish backsword play hadn’t gone 
out in the Vale of White Horse, and that that con- 
founded Great Western hadn’t carried away Alfred’s Hill 
to make an embankment. 

But to return to the said Vale of White Horse, the 
country in which the first scenes of this true and in- 
27 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

teresting story are laid. As I said, the Great Western 
now runs right through it, and it is a land of large rich 
pastures, bounded by fox-fences, and covered with fine 
hedgerow timber, with here and there a nice little gorse 
or spinney, where abideth poor Charley, having no other 
cover to which to betake himself for miles and miles, 
when pushed out some fine November morning by the 
Old Berkshire. Those who have been there, and well 
mounted, only know how he and the stanch little pack 
who dash after him — heads high and sterns low with a 
breast-high scent — can consume the ground at such times. 
There being little plow-land and few woods, the vale 
is only an average sporting country, except for hunting. 
The villages are straggling, queer, old-fashioned places, 
the houses being dropped down without the least regu- 
larity, in nooks and out-of-the-way corners by the sides 
of shadowy lanes and footpaths, each with its patch of 
garden. They are built chiefly of good gray stone, and 
thatched ; though I see that within the last year or two 
the red-brick cottages are multiplying, for the Vale is 
beginning to manufacture largely both brick and tiles. 
There are lots of waste ground by the side of the roads 
in every village, amounting often to village greens, where 
feed the pigs and ganders of the people ; and these roads 
are old-fashioned homely roads, very dirty and badly 
made, and hardly endurable in winter, but still pleasant 
jog-trot roads running through the great pasture lands, 
dotted here and there with little clumps of thorns, where 
the sleek kine are feeding, with no fence on either side of 
28 


The Brown Family 

them, and a gate at the end of each field, which makes 
you get out of your gig (if you keep one), and gives you 
a chance of looking about you every quarter of a mile. 

One of the moralists whom we sat under in my youth 
— was it the great Richard Swiveller, or Mr. Stiggins ? 
— says, ‘‘We are born in a vale, and must take the con- 
sequences of being found in such a situation.” These 
consequences I, for one, am ready to encounter. I pity 
people who weren’t born in a vale. I don’t mean a flat 
country, but a vale — that is, a flat country bounded by 
hills. The having your hill always in view, if you choose 
to turn toward him, that’s the essence of a vale. There 
he is forever in the distance, your friend and companion ; 
you never lose him as you do in hilly districts. 

And then what a hill is the White Horse Hill ! 
There it stands right up above all the rest, nine hundred 
feet above the sea, and the boldest, bravest shape for a 
chalk hill that you ever saw. Let us go up to the top of 
him, and see what is to be found there. Ay, you may 
well wonder and think it odd you never heard of this be- 
fore ; but, wonder or not, as you please, there are hun- 
dreds of such things lying about England, which wiser 
folk than you know nothing of, and care nothing for. 
Yes, it’s a magnificent Roman camp, and no mistake, with 
gates, and ditch, and mounds, all as complete as it was 
twenty years after the strong old rogues left it. Here, 
right up on the highest point, from which they say you 
can see eleven counties, they trenched round all the ' 
table-land, some twelve or fourteen acres, as was their 
29 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

custom, for they couldn’t bear anybody to overlook them, 
and made their eyry. The ground falls away rapidly on 
all sides. Was there ever such turf in the whole world ? 
You sink up to your ankles at every step, and yet the 
spring of it is delicious. There is always a breeze in 
the “ camp,” as it is called ; and here it lies just as the 
Romans left it, except that cairn on the east side left by 
her Majesty’s corps of Sappers and Miners the other day, 
when they and the Engineer officer had finished their 
sojourn there, and their surveys for the Ordnance map of 
Berkshire. It is altogether a place that you won’t forget 
— a place to open a man’s soul and make him prophesy as 
he looks down on that great Vale spread out as the gar- 
den of the Lord before him, and wave on wave of the 
mysterious downs behind ; and to the right and left the 
chalk hills running away into the distance along which he 
can trace for miles the old Roman road, “ the Ridgeway ” 
the Rudge,” as the country folk call it), keeping straight 
along the highest back of the hills — such a place as Balak 
brought Balaam to, and told him to prophesy against the 
people in the valley beneath. And he could not, neither 
shall you, for they are a people of the Lord who abide 
there. 

And now we leave the camp, and descend toward 
the west, and are on the Ashdown. We are treading on 
heroes. It is sacred ground for Englishmen, more sacred 
than all but one or two fields where their bones lie 
whitening. For this is the actual place where our Alfred 
won his great battle, the battle of Ashdown (‘‘iEscendum” 
30 


The Brown Family 

in the chroniclers), which broke the Danish power, and 
made England a Christian land. The Danes held the 
camp and the slope where we are standing — the whole 
crown of the hill, in fact. The heathen had beforehand 
seized the higher ground,’' as old Asser says, having 
wasted everything behind them from London, and being 
just ready to burst down on the fair vale, Alfred’s own 
birthplace and heritage. And up the heights came the 
Saxons, as they did at the Alma. “The Christians led 
up their line from the lower ground. There stood also 
on that same spot a single thorn-tree, marvellous stumpy 
(which we ourselves with our very own eyes have seen).” 
Bless the old chronicler ! does he think nobody ever saw 
the “single thorn-tree” but himself? Why, there it 
stands to this very day, just on the edge of the slope, and 
I saw it not three weeks since ; an old single thorn-tree, 
“ marvellous stumpy.” At least if it isn’t the same tree, 
it ought to have been, for it’s just in the place where the 
battle must have been won or lost — “ around which, as I 
was saying, the two lines of foemen came together in battle 
with a huge shout. And in this place, one of the two 
kings of the heathen and five of his earls fell down and 
died, and many thousands of the heathen side in the same 
place.” After which crowning mercy, the pious king, 
that there might never be wanting a sign and a memorial 
to the country side, carved out on the northern side of 
the chalk hill, under the camp, where it is almost precipi- 
tous, the great Saxon white horse, which he who will may 
see from the railway, and which gives its name to the 

31 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

vale, over which it has looked these thousand years and 
more. 

Right down below the White Horse is a curious deep 
and broad gully called “the Manger,'* into one side of 
which the hills fall with a series of the most lovely sweep- 
ing curves, known as “ the Giant’s Stairs” ; they are not 
a bit like stairs, but I never saw anything like them any- 
where else, with their short green turf, and tender blue- 
bells, and gossamer and thistle-down gleaming in the sun, 
and the sheep-paths running along their sides like ruled 
lines. 

The other side of the Manger is formed by the Dra- 
gon’s Hill, a curious little round self-confident fellow, 
thrown forward from the range, and utterly unlike every- 
thing round him. On this hill some deliverer of man- 
kind, St. George, the country folks used to tell me, killed 
a dragon. Whether it were St. George, I cannot say ; 
but surely a dragon was killed there, for you may see the 
marks yet where his blood ran down, and more by token 
the place where it ran down is the easiest way up the 
hillside. 

Passing along the Ridgeway to the west for about a 
mile, we come to a little clump of young beech and firs, 
with a growth of thorn and privet underwood. Here 
you may find nests of the strong down partridge and 
peewit, but take care that the keeper isn’t down upon 
you ; and in the middle of it is an old cromlech, a huge 
flat stone raised on seven or eight others, and led up to 
by a path, with large single stones set up on each side. 
32 


The Brown Family 

This is Wayland Smith's cave, a place of classic fame 
now ; but as Sir Walter has touched it, I may as well let 
it alone, and refer you to Kenilworth ” for the legend. 

The thick deep wood which you see in the hollow 
about a mile off surrounds Ashdown* Park, built by Inigo 
Jones. Four broad alleys are cut through the wood from 
circumference to centre, and each leads to one face of the 
house. The mystery of the downs hangs about house 
and wood, as they stand there alone, so unlike all around, 
with the green slopes studded with great stones just about 
this part, stretching away on all sides. It was a wise Lord 
Craven, I think, who pitched his tent there. 

Passing along the Ridgeway to the east, we soon come 
to cultivated land. The downs, strictly so called, are no 
more ; Lincolnshire farmers have been imported, and the 
long fresh slopes are sheep-walks no more, but grow 
famous turnips and barley. One of those improvers lives 
over there at the “ Seven Barrows ” farm, another mys- 
tery of the great downs. There are the barrows still, 
solemn and silent, like ships in the calm sea, the sepul- 
chres of some sons of men. But of whom? It is three 
miles from the White Horse, too far for the slain of Ash- 
down to be buried there — who shall say what heroes are 
waiting there? But we must get down into the vale 
again, and so away by the Great Western Railway to 
town, for time and the printer’s devil press, and it is a 
terribly long and slippery descent, and a shocking bad 
road. At the bottom, however^ there is a pleasant public, 
whereat we must really take a modest quencher, for the 
33 


Vol. i6— B 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

down here is a provocative of thirst. So we pull up under 
an old oak which stands before the door. 

“ What is the name of your hill, landlord ?’* 

‘‘ Blawing Stwun Hill, sir, to be sure.” 

[Reader. Sturm T' 

Author. Stone ^ stupid — the Blowing Stone'^^ 

‘‘And of your house? I can’t make out the sign.” 

“ Blawing Stwun, sir,” says the landlord, pouring out 
his old ale from a Toby-Philpot jug, with a melodious 
crash, into the long-necked glass. 

“ What queer names !” say we, sighing at the end of 
our draught, and holding out the glass to be replenished. 

“ Be’an’t queer at all, as I can see, sir,” says mine host, 
handing back our glass, “seeing as this here is the Blaw- 
ing Stwun his self,” putting his hand on a square lump 
of stone some three feet and a half high, perforated with 
two or three queer holes, like petrified antediluvian rat- 
holes, which lies there close under the oak, under our very 
nose. We are more than ever puzzled, and drink our 
second glass of ale wondering what will come next. “Like 
to hear un, sir?” says mine host, setting down Toby Phil- 
pot on the tray, and resting both hands on the “ Stwun.” 
We are ready for anything ; and he, without waiting for 
a reply, applies his mouth to one of the rat-holes. Some- 
thing must come of it, if he doesn’t burst. Good heavens ! 
I hope he has no apoplectic tendencies. Yes, here it 
comes, sure enough, a grewsome sound between a moan 
and a roar, and spreads itself away over the valley, and 
up the hillside, and into the woods at the back of the 
34 


The Brown Family 

house — a ghost-like, awful voice. “ Um do say, sir,** 
says mine host rising purple-faced, while the moan is still 
coming out of the ‘‘ Stwun,” ‘‘ as they used in old times 
to warn the country-side, by blawing the stwun when the 
enemy was acomin’ — and as how folks could make un 
heered them for seven mile round; leastways, so I’ve 
heered Lawyer Smith say, and he knows a smart sight 
about them old times.” We can hardly swallow Lawyer 
Smith’s seven miles ; but could the blowing of the stone 
have been a summons, a sort of sending the fiery cross 
round the neighborhood in the old times ? What old 
times? Who knows? We pay for our beer, and are 
thankful. 

“ And what’s the name of the village just below, land- 
lord?”, 

Kingstone Lisle, sir.” 

“ Fine plantations you’ve got here?” 

“ Yes, sir, the Squire’s ’mazin’ fond of trees and such 
like.” 

“ No wonder. He’s got some real beauties to be fond 
of. Good-day, landlord.” 

“ Good-day, sir, and a pleasant ride to ’e.” 

And now, my boys, you whom I want to get for 
readers, have you had enough ? Will you give in at once, 
and say you’re convinced, and let me begin my story, or 
will you have more of it? Remember, I’ve only been 
over a little bit of the hillside yet — what you could ride 
round easily on your ponies in an hour. I’m only just 
come down into the vale, by Blowing Stone Hill, and if 

35 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

I once begin about the vale, what’s to stop me? You’ll 
have to hear all about Wantage, the birthplace of Alfred, 
and Farringdon, which held out so long for Charles the 
First (the vale was near Oxford, and dreadfully malignant ; 
full of Throgmortons, Puseys, and Pyes, and such like, 
and their brawny retainers). Did you ever read Thomas 
Ingoldsby’s ‘^Legend of Hamilton Tighe?” If you 
haven’t you ought to have. Well, Farringdon is where 
he lived before he went to sea; his real name was Hamp- 
den Pye, and the Pyes were the great folk at Farringdon. 
Then there’s Pusey — you’ve heard of the Pusey horn, 
which King Canute gave to the Puseys of that day, and 
which the gallant old squire, lately gone to his rest (whom 
Berkshire freeholders turned out of last Parliament, to 
their eternal disgrace, for voting according to his con- 
science), used to bring out on high days, holidays, and 
bonfire nights. And the splendid old cross church at 
Uffington, the Uffingas town — the whole country-side 
teems with Saxon names and memories ! And the old 
moated grange at Compton, nestled close under the hill- 
side, where twenty Marianas may have lived, with its 
bright water-lilies in the moat, and its yew walk, ‘‘the 
cloister walk,” and its peerless terraced gardens. There 
they all are, and twenty things besides, for those who 
care about them, and have eyes. And these are the sort 
of things you may find, I believe, every one of you, in 
any common English country neighborhood. 

Will you look for them under your own noses, or will 
you not? Well, well; I’ve done what I can to make 
3b 


The Brown Family 


you, and if you will go gadding over half Europe now 
every holidays, I can't help it. I was born and bred a 
west-countryman, thank God! a Wessex man, a citizen 
of the noblest Saxon kingdom of Wessex, a regular, 
‘‘ Angular Saxon," the very soul of me “ adscriptus glebe." 
There’s nothing like the old country-side for me, and no 
music like the twang of the real old Saxon tongue, as one 
gets it fresh from the veritable chaw in the White Horse 
Vale: and I say with Gaarge Ridler," the old west- 
country yeoman. 


Throo aall the waarld ould Gaarge would bwoast, 
Commend me to merry owld England mwoast ; 
While vools gwoes prating vur and nigh, 

We stwops at whum, my dog and I.” 


Here at any rate lived and stopped at home. Squire 
Brown, J. P. for the county of Berks, in a village near 
the foot of the White Horse range. And here he dealt 
out justice and mercy in a rough way, and begat sons and 
daughters, and hunted the fox, and grumbled at the bad- 
ness of the roads and the times. And his wife dealt out 
stockings, and calico shirts, and smock-frocks, and com- 
forting drinks to the old folks with the “ rheumatiz," and 
good counsel to all ; and kept the coal and clothes clubs 
going, for yule-tide, when the bands of mummers came 
round, dressed out in ribbons and colored paper caps, and 
stamped round the Squire’s kitchen, repeating in true 
sing-song vernacular the legend of St. George and his 
fight, and the ten-pound Doctor, who plays his part at 
healing the Saint — a relic, I believe, of the old middle- 


37 



Tom Brown’s School Days 

age mysteries. It was the first dramatic representation 
which greeted the eyes of little Tom, who was brought 
down into the kitchen by his nurse to witness it, at the 
mature age of three years. Tom was the eldest child of 
his parents, and from his earliest babyhood exhibited the 
family characteristics in great strength. He was a hearty, 
strong boy from the first, given to fighting with and es- 
caping from his nurse, and fraternizing with all the village 
boys, with whom he made expeditions all round the 
neighborhood. And here in the quiet old-fashioned 
country village, under the shadow of the everlasting hills, 
Tom Brown was reared, and never left it till he went first 
to school when nearly eight years of age — for in those 
days change of air twice a year was not thought absolutely 
necessary for the health of all Her Majesty's lieges. 

I have been credibly informed, and am inclined to 
believe, that the various Boards of Directors of Rail- 
way Companies, those gigantic jobbers and bribers, 
while quarelling about everything else, agreed together 
some ten years back to buy up the learned profession of 
Medicine, body and soul. To this end they set apart 
several millions of money, which they continually dis- 
tribute judiciously among the Doctors, stipulating only 
this one thing, that they shall prescribe change of air to 
every patient who can pay, or borrow money to pay, a 
railway fare, and see their prescription carried out. If it 
be not for this, why is it that none of us can be well a 
home for a year together? It wasn't so twenty years ago 
— not a bit of it. The Browns didn't go out of the 
38 


The Brown Family 

county once in five years. A visit to Reading or Abing- 
don twice a year, at Assizes or Quarter Sessions, which 
the Squire made on his horse with a pair of saddle-bags 
containing his wardrobe — a stay of a day or two at some 
country neighbor’s — or an expedition to a county ball, or 
the yeomanry review — made up the sum of the Brown 
locomotion in most years. A stray Brown from some 
distant county dropped in every now and then; or from 
Oxford, on grave nag, an old don, contemporary of the 
Squire ; and were looked upon by the Brown household 
and the villagers with the same sort of feeling with which 
we now regard a man who has crossed the Rocky Moun- 
tains, or launched a boat on the Great Lake in Central 
Africa. The White Horse Vale, remember, was trav- 
ersed by no great road ; nothing but country parish roads, 
and these very bad. Only one coach ran there, and this 
one only from Wantage to London, so that the western 
part of the Vale was without regular means of moving on, 
and certainly didn’t seem to want them. There was the 
canal, by the way, which supplied the country-side with 
coal, and up and down which continually went the long 
barges, with the big black men lounging by the side of 
the horses along the towing path, and the women in 
bright colored handkerchiefs standing in the sterns steer- 
ing. Standing I say, but you could never see whether 
they were standing or sitting, all but their heads and 
shoulders being out of sight in the cozy little cabins which 
occupied some eight feet of the stern, and which Tom 
Brown pictured to himself as the most desirable of resi- 
39 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

dences. His nurse told him that those good-natured- 
looking women were in the constant habit of enticing 
children into the barges and taking them up to London 
and selling them, which Tom wouldn’t believe, and 
which made him resolve as soon as possible to accept the 
oft-proffered invitation of these sirens to “young Master,” 
to come in and have a ride. But as yet the nurse was 
too much for Tom. 

Yet why should I after all abuse the gadabout propen- 
sities of my countrymen? We are a vagabond nation 
now, that’s certain, for better for worse. I am a vaga- 
bond ; I have been away from home no less than five 
distinct times in the last year. The Queen sets us the 
example — we are moving on from top to bottom. Little 
dirty Jack, who abides in Clement’s Inn gateway, and 
blacks my boots for a penny, takes his month’s hop- 
picking every year as a matter of course. Why shouldn’t 
he? I’m delighted at it. i love vagabonds, only I pre- 
fer poor to rich ones ; — couriers and ladies’ maids, im- 
perials and travelling carriages, are an abomination unto 
me — I cannot away with them. But for dirty Jack, and 
every good fellow who, in the words of the capital French 
song, moves about, 

“Comme le limacon, 

Portant tout son bagage, 

Ses meubles, sa maison,” 

on his own back, why, good luck to them, and many a 
merry road-side adventure, and steaming supper in the 
chimney corners of roadside inns, Swisschalets, Hotten- 
40 


The Brown Family 

tot kraals, or wherever else they like to go. So having 
succeeded in contradicting myself in my first chapter 
(which gives me great hopes that you will all go on, and 
think me a good fellow notwithstanding my crotchet), I 
shall here shut up for the present, and consider my ways ; 
having resolved to “sar’ it out,” as we say in the Vale, 
“holus-bolus” just as it comes, and then you’ll probably 
get the truth out of me. 


41 


CHAPTER II 


THE VEAST 

“And the King commandeth and forbiddeth, that from henceforth neither 
fairs nor markets be kept in Church-yards, for the honour of the Church.’’— 
Statutes: 13 Edw. I. Stat. ii. Cap. vi. 

ik S that venerable and learned poet (whose volumi- 
nous works we all think it the correct thing to ad- 
^ mire and talk about, but don’t read often) most 
truly says, “the child is father to the man”; a fortiori^ there- 
fore, he must be father to the boy. So, as we are going 
at any rate to see Tom Brown through his boyhood, sup- 
posing we never get any further (which, if you show a 
proper sense of the value of this history, there is no 
knowing but what we may), let us have a look at the life 
and environments of the child, in the quiet country vil- 
lage to which we were introduced in the last chapter. 

Tom, as has been already said, was a robust and com- 
bative urchin, and at the age of four began to struggle 
against the yoke and authority of his nurse. That func- 
tionary was a good-hearted, tearful, scatter-brained girl, 
lately taken by Tom’s mother. Madam Brown, as she 
was called, from the village school to be trained as nursery- 
maid. Madam Brown was a rare trainer of servants, and 
spent herself freely in the profession ; for profession it 
was, and gave her more trouble by half than many peo- 
42 


The Veast 


pie take to earn a good income. Her servants were 
known and sought after for miles round. Almost all the 
girls who attained a certain place in the village school 
were taken by her, one or two at a time, as housemaids, 
laundrymaids, nurserymaids, or kitchenmaids, and after a 
year or two’s drilling were started in life among the 
neighboring families, with good principles and wardrobes. 
One of the results of this system was the perpetual de- 
spair of Mrs. Brown’s cook and own maid, who no sooner 
had a notable girl made to their hands, than Missus was 
sure to find a good place for her and send her off, taking 
in fresh importations from the school. Another was, that 
the house was always full of young girls, with clean shin- 
ing faces, who broke plates and scorched linen, but made 
an atmosphere of cheerful homely life about the place, 
good for every one who came within its influence. Mrs. 
Brown loved young people, and in fact human creatures 
in general, above plates and linen. They were more like 
a lot of elder children than servants, and felt to her more 
as a mother or aunt than as a mistress. 

Tom’s nurse was one who took in her instruction 
very slowly — she seemed to have two left hands and no 
head ; and so Mrs. Brown kept her on longer than usual, 
that she might expend her awkwardness and forgetfulness 
upon those who would not judge and punish her too 
strictly for them. 

Charity Lamb was her name. It had been the im- 
memorial habit of the village to christen children either 
by Bible names or by those of the cardinal and other 
43 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

virtues; so that one was forever hearing in the village 
street, or on the green, shrill sounds of Prudence ! Pru- 
dence ! thee cum’ out o’ the gutter”; or, “Mercy! d’rat 
the girl, what hist thee a-doin’ wi’ little Faith?” and 
there were Ruths, Rachels, Keziahs, in every corner. The 
same with the boys ; they were Benjamins, Jacobs, Noahs, 
Enochs. 1 suppose the custom has come down from 
Puritan times — there it is at any rate, very strong still in 
the Vale. 

Well, from early morn till dewy eve, when she had 
it out of him in the cold tub before putting him to bed. 
Charity and Tom were pitted against one another. Phys- 
ical power was as yet on the side of Charity, but she 
hadn’t a chance with him wherever head-work was wanted. 
This war of independence began every morning before 
breakfast, when Charity escorted her charge to a neighbor- 
ing farmhouse which supplied the Browns, and where, 
by his mother’s wish. Master Tom went to drink whey, 
before breakfast. Tom had no sort of objection to whey, 
but he had a decided liking for curds, which were forbid- 
den as unwholesome, and there was seldom a morning 
that he did not manage to secure a handful of hard curds, 
in defiance of Charity and of the farmer’s wife. The lat- 
ter good soul was a gaunt angular woman, who with an 
old black bonnet on the top of her head, the strings 
dangling about her shoulders, and her gown tucked 
through her pocket-holes, went clattering about the 
dairy, cheese-room, and yard, in high pattens. Charity 
was some sort of niecp pf the old lady’s, and was conse- 
44 


The Veast 


quently free of the farmhouse and garden, into which she 
could not resist going for the purposes of gossip and flirta- 
tion with the heir-apparent, who was a dawdling fellow, 
never out at work as he ought to have been. The mo- 
ment Charity had found her cousin, or any other occupa- 
tion, Tom would slip away; and in a minute shrill cries 
would be heard from the dairy, “ Charity, Charity, thee 
lazy hussy, where bist?’' and Tom would break cover, 
hands and mouth full of curds, and take refuge on the 
shaky surface of the great muck reservoir in the middle 
of the yard, disturbing the repose of the great pigs. 
Here he was in safety, as no grown person could follow 
without getting over his knees ; and the luckless Char- 
ity, while her aunt scolded her from the dairy-door, for 
being ‘‘alius hankering about arter our Willum, instead 
of minding Master Tom,” would descend from threats to 
coaxing, to lure Tom out of the muck, which was rising 
over his shoes and would soon tell a tale on his stock- 
ings, for which she would be sure to catch it from missus’s 
maid. 

Tom had two abettors in the shape of a couple of old 
boys, Noah and Benjamin by name, who defended him 
from Charity, and expended much time upon his educa- 
tion. They were both of them retired servants of former 
generations of the Browns. Noah Crooke was a keen, 
dry old man of almost ninety, but still able to totter 
about. He talked to Tom quite as if he were one of his 
own family, and indeed had long completely identified the 
Browns with himself. In some remote age he had been 
45 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

the attendant of a Miss Brown, and had conveyed her 
about the country on a pillion. He had a little round 
picture of the identical gray horse, caparisoned with the 
identical pillion, before which he used to do a sort of fetich 
worship, and abuse turnpike-roads and carriages. He 
wore an old full-bottomed wig, the gift of some dandy old 
Brown whom he had valeted in the middle of last cen- 
tury, which habiliment Master Tom looked upon with 
considerable respect, not to say fear ; and indeed his whole 
feeling toward Noah was strongly tainted with awe; and 
when the old gentleman was gathered to his fathers, Tom’s 
lamentation over him was not unaccompanied by a certain 
joy at having seen the last of the wig: “ Poor old Noah, 
dead and gone,” said he, ‘‘Tom Brown so sorry! Put 
him in the coffin, wig and all.” 

But old Benjy was young Master’s real delight and 
refuge. He was a youth by the side of Noah, scarce 
seventy years old. A cheery, humorous, kind-hearted 
old man, full of sixty years of Vale gossip, and of all sorts 
of helpful ways for young and old, but above all for chil- 
dren. It was he who bent the first pin, with which Tom 
extracted his first stickleback out of “ Pebbly Brook,” the 
little stream which ran through the village. The first 
stickleback was a splendid fellow, with fabulous red and 
blue gills. Tom kept him in a small basin till the day 
of his death, and became a fisherman from that day. 
Within a mouth from the taking of the first stickle- 
back, Benjy had carried off our hero to the canal, in 
defiance of Charity, and between them, after a whole 
46 


The Veast 

afternoon’s popjWing, they had caught three or four small 
coarse fish and a perch, averaging perhaps two and a half 
ounces each, whidi Tom bore home in rapture to his 
mother as a preciims gift, and she received like a true 
mother with equal r\pture, instructing the cook neverthe- 
less, in a private interview, not to prepare the same for 
the Squire’s dinner. Charity had appealed against old 
Benjy in the meantime, representing the dangers of the 
canal banks ; but Mrs. Brown, seeing the boy’s inaptitude 
for female guidance, had decided in Benjy’s favor, and 
from thenceforth the old man was Tom’s dry nurse. 
And as they sat by the canal watching their little green 
and white float, Benjy would instruct him in the doings 
of deceased Browns. How his grandfather, in the early 
days of the great war, when there was much distress and 
crime in the Vale, and the magistrates had been threat- 
ened by the mob, had ridden in with a big stick in his 
hand, and held the Petty Sessions by himself. How his 
great uncle, the Rector, had encountered and laid the last 
ghost, who had frightened the old women, male and fe- 
male, of the parish out of their senses, and who turned 
out to be the blacksmith’s apprentice, disguised in drink 
and a white sheet. It was Benjy too who saddled Tom’s 
first pony, and instructed him in the mysteries of horse- 
manship, teaching him to throw his weight back and keep 
his hand low ; and who stood chuckling outside the door 
of the girls’ school when Tom rode his little Shetland into 
the cottage and round the table, where the old dame and 
her pupils were seated at their work. 

47 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

Benjy himself was come of a family distinguished in 
the Vale for their prowess in all athletic games. Some 
half dozen of his brothers and kinsmen had gone to the 
wars, of whom only one had survived to come home, 
with a small pension, and three bullets in different parts 
of his body ; he had shared Benjy’s cottage till his death, 
and had left him his old dragoon’s sword and pistol, 
which hung over the mantel-piece, flanked by a pair of 
heavy single-sticks with which Benjy himself had won re- 
nown long ago as an old gamester, against the picked men 
of Wiltshire and Somersetshire, in many a good bout at 
the revels and pastime of the country-side. For he had 
been a famous back-sword man in his young days, and a 
good wrestler at elbow and collar. 

Back-swording and wrestling were the most serious 
holiday pursuits of the Vale — those by which men at- 
tained fame — and each village had its champion. I sup- 
pose that on the whole, people were less worked then than 
they are now ; at any rate, they seemed to have more 
time and energy for the old pastimes. The great times 
for back-swording came round once a year in each village, 
at the feast. The Vale “veasts” were not the common 
statute feasts, but much more ancient business. They are 
literally, so far as one can ascertain, feasts of the dedica- 
tion, /. ^., they were first established in the churchyard on 
the day on which the village church was opened for pub- 
lic worship, which was on the wake or festival of the 
patron Saint, and have been held on the same day in every 
year since that time. 


48 


The Veast 


There was no longer any remembrance of why the. 
‘‘veast” had been instituted, but nevertheless it had a 
pleasant and almost sacred character of its own. For it 
was then that all the children of the village, wherever they 
were scattered, tried to get home for a holiday to visit 
their fathers and mothers and friends, bringing with them 
their wages or some little gift from up the country for the 
old folk. Perhaps for a day or two before, but at any 
rate on “ veast-day ” and the day after, in our village, you 
might see strapping healthy young men and women from 
all parts of the country going round from house to house 
in their best clothes, and finishing up with a call on 
Madam Brown, whom they would consult as to putting 
out their earnings to the best advantage, or how to ex- 
pend the sanje best for the benefit of the old folk. Every 
household, however poor, managed to raise a “ feast-cake” 
and bottle of ginger or raisin wine, which stood on the 
cottage table ready for all comers, and not unlikely to 
make them remember feast time — for feast-cake is very 
solid, and full of huge raisins. Moreover, feast-time was 
the day of reconciliation for the parish. If Job Higgins 
and Noah Freeman hadn’t spoken for the last six months, 
their “ old women ” would be sure to get it patched up 
by that day. And though there was a good deal of 
drinking and low vice in the booths of an evening, it was 
pretty well confined to those who would have been doing 
the like, “ veast or no veast,” and on the whole, the effect 
was humanizing and Christian. In fact, the only reason 
why this is not the case still, is that gentlefolk and far- 
49 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

mers have taken to other amusements, and have, as usual, 
forgotten the poor. They don’t attend the feasts them- 
selves, and call them disreputable, whereupon the steadiest 
of the poor leave them also, and they become what they 
are called. Class amusements, be they for dukes or 
plow-boys, always become nuisances and curses to a 
country. The true charm of cricket and hunting is, that 
they are still more or less sociable and universal ; there’s 
a place for every man who will come and take his part. 

No one in the village enjoyed the approach of “veast 
day” more than Tom, in the year in which he was taken 
under old Benjy’s tutelage. The feast was held in a large 
green field at the lower end of the village. The road to 
Farringdon ran along one ^ide of it, and the brook by the 
side of the road ; and above the brook was another large 
gently sloping pasture-land, with a footpath running down 
it from the churchyard; and the old church, the origi- 
nator of all the m^th, towered up with its gray walls and 
lancet windows, overlooking and sanctioning the whole, 
though its own share therein had been forgotten. At the 
point where the footpath crossed the brook and road, and 
entered on the field where the feast was held, was a long 
low roadside inn, and on the opposite side of the field 
was a large white thatched farmhouse, where dwelt an 
old sporting farmer, a great promoter of the revels. 

Past the old church, and down the footpath, pottered 
the old man and the child hand in hand early on the 
afternoon of the day before the feast, and wandered all 
round the ground, which was already being occupied by 
50 


The Veast 


the ‘‘cheap Jacks,” with their green-covered carts and 
marvellous assortment of wares, and the booths of more 
legitimate small traders with their tempting arrays of 
fairings and eatables, and penny peep-shows and other 
shows, containing pink-eyed ladies, and dwarfs, and boa- 
constrictors, and wild Indians. But the object of most 
interest to Benjy, and of course to his pupil also, was the 
stage of rough planks some four feet high, which was 
being put up by the village carpenter for the back-sword- 
ing and wrestling ; and after surveying the whole tenderly, 
old Benjy led his charge away to the roadside inn, where 
he ordered a glass of ale and a long pipe for himself, and 
discussed these unwonted luxuries on the bench outside in 
the soft autumn evening with mine host, another old ser- 
vant of the Browns, and speculated with him on the likeli- 
hood of a good show of old gamesters to contend for the 
morrow's prizes, and told tales of the gallant bouts of forty 
years back, to which Tom listened with all his ears and eyes. 

But who shall tell the joy of the next morning, when 
the church bells were ringing a merry peal, and old Benjy 
appeared in the servants’ hall, resplendent in a long blue 
coat and brass buttons and a pair of old yellow buckskins 
and top-boots, which he had cleaned for and inherited 
from Tom’s grandfather; a stout thorn-stick in his hand 
and a nosegay of pinks and lavender in his button-hole, 
and led away Tom in his best clothes, and tw’o new shil- 
lings in his breeches pockets ? Those two, at any rate, 
look like enjoying the day’s revel. 

They quicken their pace when they get into the church- 

51 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

yard, for already they see the field thronged with country 
folk, the men in clean white smocks or velveteen or fus- 
tian coats, with rough plush waistcoats of many colors, 
and the women in the beautiful long scarlet cloak, the 
usual outdoor dress of west-country women in those days, 
and which often descended in families from mother to 
daughter, or in new-fashioned stuff shawls, which, if they 
would but believe it, don’t become them half so well. 
The air resounds with the pipe and tabor and the drums 
and trumpets of the showmen shouting at the doors of 
their caravans, over which tremendous pictures of the 
wonders to be seen within hang temptingly; while through 
all rises the shrill ‘‘ root-too-too-too ” of Mr. Punch, and 
the unceasing pan-pipe of his satellite. 

‘‘ Lawk a’ massey, Mr. Benjamin,” cries a stout 
motherly woman in a red cloak, as they enter the field ; 
“ be that you ? Well 1 never ! you do look purely. And 
how’s the Squire, and Madam, and the family? ” 

Benjy graciously shakes hands with the speaker, who 
has left our village for some years, but has come over for 
veast-day on a visit to an old gossip — and gently indi- 
cates the heir apparent of the Browns. 

“ B\6s^ his little heart ! I must gi’ un a kiss. Here 
Susannah^ Susannah ! ” cries she, raising herself from the 
embrace, ‘‘come and see Mr. Benjamin and young Mas- 
ter Tom. You minds our Sukey, Mr. Benjamin, she be 
growed a rare slip of a wench since you seen her, tho’ 
her’ll be sixteen come Martinmas. I do aim to take her 
to see Madam to get her a place,” 

52 


The Veast 


And Sukey comes bouncing away from a knot of old 
school-fellows, and drops a courtesy to Mr. Benjamin. 
And elders come up from all parts to salute Benjy, and 
girls who have been Madam’s pupils to kiss Master Tom. 
And they carry him off to load him with fairings ; and 
he returns to Benjy, his hat and coat covered with rib- 
bons, and his pockets crammed with wonderful boxes 
which open upon ever new boxes and boxes, and popguns 
and trumpets and apples, and gilt gingerbread from the 
stall of Angel Heavens, sole vendor thereof, whose booth 
groans with kings and queens, and elephants, and pranc- 
ing steeds, all gleaming with gold. There was more gold 
on Angel’s cakes than there is ginger in those of this 
degenerate age. Skilled diggers might yet make a for- 
tune in the churchyards of the Vale, by carefully washing 
the dust of the consumers of Angel’s gingerbread. Alas ! 
he is with his namesakes, and his receipts have, I fear, 
died with him. 

And then they inspect the penny peep-show, at least 
Tom does, while old Benjy stands outside and gossips, 
and walks up the steps, and enters the mysterious doors 
of the pink-eyed lady and the Irish Giant, who do not by 
any means come up to their pictures ; and the boa will not 
swallow his rabbit, but there the rabbit is waiting to be 
swallowed — and what can you expect for tuppence? We 
are easily pleased in the Vale. Now there is a rush of the 
crowd, and a tinkling bell is heard, and shouts of laugh- 
ter; and Master Tom mounts on Benjy’s shoulders and 
beholds a jingling match in all its glory. The games are 
53 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

begun and this is the opening of them. It is a quaint 
game, immensely amusing to look at, and as I don't know 
whether it is used in your counties, I had better describe 
it. A large roped ring is made, into which are introduced 
a dozen or so of big boys and young men who mean to 
play ; these are carefully blinded and turned loose into the 
ring, and then a man is introduced not blindfolded, with 
a bell hung round his neck and his two hands tied be- 
hind him. Of course every time he moves the bell must 
ring, as he has no hand to hold it, and so the dozen 
blindfolded men have to catch him. This they cannot 
always manage if he is a lively fellow, but half of them 
always rush into the arms of the other half, or drive their 
heads together, or tumble over; and then the crowd 
laughs vehemently, and invents nicknames for them on 
the spur of the moment, and they, if they be choleric, tear 
off the handkerchiefs which blind them, and not unfre- 
quently pitch into one another, each thinking that the 
other must have run against him on purpose. It is great 
fun to look at a jingling-match certainly, and Tom shouts 
and jumps on old Benjy’s shoulders at the sight, until 
the old man feels weary and shifts him to the strong 
young shoulders of the groom, who has just got down 
to the fun. 

And now, while they are climbing the pole in another 
part of the field, and muzzling in a flour-tub in another, 
the old farmer whose house, as has been said, overlooks 
the field, and who is master of the revels, gets up the 
steps on to the stage, and announces to all whom it may 
54 


The Veast 


concern that a half-sovereign in money will be forthcom- 
ing for the old gamester who breaks most heads ; to which 
the Squire and he have added a new hat. 

The amount of the prize is sufficient to stimulate the 
men of the immediate neighborhood, but not enough to 
bring any very high talent from a distance ; so after a 
glance or two round, a tall fellow, who is a down shep- 
herd, chucks his hat on to the stage and climbs up the 
steps looking rather sheepish. The crowd of course first 
cheer, and then chaff as usual, as he picks up his hat and 
begins handling the sticks to see which will suit him. 

‘‘ Wooy, Willum Smith, thee cans't plaay wi' he arra 
daay,'* says his companion to the blacksmith’s apprentice, 
a stout young fellow of nineteen or twenty. Willum’s 
sweetheart is in the ‘Weast” somewhere, and has strictly 
enjoined him not to get his head broke at back-swording 
on pain of her highest displeasure ; but as she is not to 
be seen (the women pretend not to like to see the back- 
sword play and keep away from the stage), and as his hat 
is decidedly getting old, he chucks it on to the stage and 
follows himself, hoping that he will only have to break other 
people’s heads, or that after all Rachel won’t really mind. 

Then follows the greasy cap lined with fur of a half- 
gypsy, poaching, loafing fellow, who travels the Vale not 
for much good, I fancy : 

“ Full twenty times was Peter feared 
For once that Peter was respected ” 

in fact. And then three or four other hats, including the 
glossy castor of Joe Willis, the self-elected and would-be 
55 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

champion of the neighborhood, a well-to-do young 
butcher of twenty-eight or thereabout, and a great strap- 
ping fellow, with his full allowance of bluster. This is a 
capital show of gamesters, considering the amount of the 
prize ; so while they are picking their sticks and drawing 
their lots, I think I must tell you, as shortly as I can, 
how the noble old game of back-sword is played ; for it 
is sadly gone out of late, even in the Vale, and maybe 
you have never seen it. 

The weapon is a good stout ash-stick with a large 
basket handle, heavier and somewhat shorter than a com- 
mon single-stick. The players are called ‘‘old gamesters’’ 
— why, I can’t tell you — and their object is simply to 
break one another’s heads : for the moment that blood 
runs an inch anywhere above the eyebrow the old game- 
ster to whom it belongs is beaten, and has to stop. A 
very slight blow with the sticks will fetch blood, so that 
it is by no means a punishing pastime, if the men don’t 
play on purpose,, and savagely, at the body and arms of 
their adversaries. The old gamester going into action 
only takes off his hat and coat, and arms himself with a 
stick ; he then loops the fingers of his left hand in a hand- 
kerchief or strap which he fastens round his left leg, 
measuring the length, so that when he draws it tight with 
his left elbow in the air, that elbow shall just reach as high 
as his crown. Thus you see, so long as he chooses to 
keep his left elbow up, regardless of cuts, he has a per- 
fect guard for the left side of his head. Then he advances 
his right hand above and in front of his head, holding his 
56 


The Veast 


Stick across so that its point projects an inch or two over 
his left elbow, and thus his whole head is completely 
guarded, and he faces his man armed in like manner, and 
they stand some three feet apart, often nearer, and feint 
and strike, and return at one another’s heads, until one 
cries ‘‘ hold,” or blood flows ; in the first case they are 
allowed a minute’s time, and go on again ; in the latter, 
another pair of gamesters are called on. If good men 
are playing, the quickness of the returns is marvellous ; 
you hear the rattle like that a boy makes drawing his 
stick along palings, only heavier, and the closeness of the 
men in action to one another gives it a strange interest 
and makes a spell at back-swording a very noble sight. 

They are all suited now with sticks, and Joe Willis 
and the gypsy man have drawn the first lot. So the rest 
lean against the rails of the stage, and Joe and the dark 
man meet in the middle, the boards having been strewed 
with sawdust ; Joe’s white shirt and spotless drab breeches 
and boots contrasting with the gypsy’s coarse blue shirt 
and dirty green velveteen breeches and leather gaiters. 
Joe is evidently turning up his nose at the other, and half 
insulted at having to break his head. 

The gypsy is a tough, active fellow, but not very skil- 
ful with his weapon, so that Joe’s weight and strength 
tell in a minute ; he is too heavy metal for him ; whack, 
whack, whack, come his blows, breaking down the gypsy’s 
guard, and threatening to reach his head every moment-, 
There it ic at last — “ Blood, blood !” shout the specta- 
tors, as a thin stream oozes out slowly from the roots of 
57 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

his hair, and the umpire calls to them to stop. The 
gypsy scowls at Joe under his brows in no pleasant man- 
ner, while Master Joe swaggers about and makes attitudes, 
and thinks himself, and shows that he thinks himself, the 
greatest man in the field. 

Then follow several stout sets-to between the other 
candidates for the new hat, and at last come the shepherd 
and Willum Smith. This is the crack set-to of the day. 
They are both in famous wind, and there is no crying 
“ hold the shepherd is an old hand and up to all the 
dodges ; he tries them one after another, and very nearly 
gets at Willum’s head by coming in near, and playing 
over his guard at the half-stick, but somehow Willum 
blunders through, catching the stick on his shoulders, 
neck, sides, every now and then, anywhere but on his 
head, and his returns are heavy and straight, and he is the 
youngest gamester and a favorite in the parish, and his 
gallant stand brings down shouts and cheers, and the 
knowing ones think he’ll win if he keeps steady, and Tom 
on the groom’s shoulder holds his hands together, and 
can hardly breathe for excitement. 

Alas for Willum ! his sweetheart getting tired of fe- 
male companionship has been hunting the booths to see 
where he can have got to, and now catches sight of him 
on the stage in full combat. She flushes and turns pale ; 
her old aunt catches hold of her saying, “ Bless’ee, child, 
doan’t’ee go a’nigst it”; but she breaks away and runs 
toward the stage calling his name. Willum keeps up his 
guard stoutly, but glances for a moment toward the voice. 
58 


The Veast 


No guard will do it, Willum, without the eye. The shep- 
herd steps round and strikes, and the point of his stick 
just grazes Willum’s forehead, fetching off the skin, and 
the blood flows, and the umpire cries ‘‘ Hold,” and poor 
Willum’s chance is up for the day. But he takes it very 
well, and puts on his old hat and coat, and goes down to 
be scolded by his sweetheart, and led away out of mis- 
chief. Tom hears him say coaxingly, as he walks off — 

“Now doan’t’ee, Rachel! I wouldn’t ha’ done it, 
only I wanted summut to buy’ee a fairing wi’, and I be 
as vlush o’ money as a twod o* veathers.” 

“Thee mind what I tells’ee,” rejoins Rachel saucily, 
“and doan’t’ee kep blethering about fairings.” Tom re- 
solves in his heart to give Willum the remainder of his 
two shillings after the back-swording. 

Joe Willis has all the luck to-day. His next bout 
ends in an easy victory, while the shepherd has a tough 
job to break his second head; and when Joe and the 
shepherd meet, and the whole circle expect and hope to 
see him get a broken crown, the shepherd slips in the first 
round and falls against the rails, hurting himself so that 
the old farmer will not let him go on, much as he wishes 
to try; and that impostor Joe (for he is certainly not the 
best man) struts and swaggers about the stage the con- 
quering gamester, though he hasn’t had five minutes 
of really trying play. 

Joe takes the new hat in his hand and puts the money 
into it, and then as if a thought strikes him and he doesn’t 
think his victory quite acknowledged down below, walks 
59 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

to each face of the stage, and looks down, shaking the 
money, and chaffing, as how he’ll stake hat and money 
and another half sovereign ‘^agin any gamester as hasn’t 
played already.” Cunning Joe ! he thus gets rid of Wil- 
lum and the shepherd, who is quite fresh again. 

No one seems to like the offer, and the umpire is 
just coming down, when a queer old hat, something like 
a Doctor of Divinity’s shovel, is chucked on to the stage, 
and an elderly quiet man steps out, who has been watch- 
ing the play, saying he should like to cross a stick wi’ 
the prodigalish young chap. 

The crowd cheer and begin to chaff Joe, who turns 
up his nose and swaggers across to the sticks. Imp’dent 
old wosbird ! ” says he, I’ll break the bald head on un 
to the truth.” 

The old boy is very bald certainly, and the blood will 
show fast enough if you can touch him, Joe. 

He takes off his long flapped coat, and stands up in 
a long flapped waistcoat, which Sir Roger de Coverley 
might have worn when it was new, picks out a stick, and 
is ready for Master Joe, who loses no time, but begins 
his old game, whack, whack, whack, trying to break down 
the old man’s guard by sheer strength. But it won’t do 
— he catches every blow close by the basket, and though 
he is rather stiff in his returns, after a minute walks Joe 
about the stage, and is clearly a stanch old gamester. 
Joe now comes in, and, making the most of his height, 
tries to get over the old man’s guard at half-stick, by 
which he takes a smart blow in the ribs and another on 
6o 


The Veast 


the elbow and nothing more. And now he loses wind 
and begins to puff, and the crowd laugh : ‘‘ Cry ‘ hold,’ 
Joe — thee’st met thy match!” Instead of taking good 
advice and taking his wind, Joe loses his temper, and 
strikes at the old man’s body. 

‘‘Blood, blood!” shout the crowd, “Joe’s head’s 
broke!” 

“Who’d have thought it? How did it come? That 
body-blow left Joe’s head unguarded for a moment, and 
with one turn of the wrist the old gentleman has flicked 
a neat little bit of skin oflF the middle of his forehead, and 
though he won’t believe it, and hammers on for three 
more blows despite of the shouts, is then convinced by 
the blood trickling into his eye. Poor Joe is sadly crest- 
fallen, and fumbles in his pocket for the other half-sov- 
ereign, but the old gamester won’t have it. “ Keep thy 
money, man, and gi’s thy hand,” says he, and they shake 
hands ; but the old gamester gives the new hat to the 
shepherd, and, soon after, the half-sovereign to Willum, 
who thereout decorates his sweetheart with ribbons to his 
heart’s content. 

“ Who can a be ? ” “ Wur do a cum from ? ” ask the 
crowd. And it soon flies about that the old’west-country 
champion, who played a tie with Shaw the Life-guards- 
man at “Vizes” twenty years before, has broken Joe 
Willis’s crown for him. 

How my country fair is spinning out ! I see I must 
skip the wrestling, and the boys jumping in sacks, and 
rolling wheelbarrows blindfolded ; and the donkey-race, 
6i 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

and the fight which arose thereout, marring the otherwise 
peaceful “ veast and the frightened scurrying^ away of 
the female feast-goers, and descent of Squire Brown, sum- 
moned by the wife of one of the combatants to stop it ; 
which he wouldn’t start to do till he had got on his top- 
boots. Tom is carried away by old Benjy, dog-tired and 
surfeited with pleasure, as the evening comes on and the 
dancing begins in the booths; and though Willum and 
Rachel in her new ribbons and many another good lad 
and lass don’t come away just yet, but have a good step 
out and enjoy it, and get no harm thereby, yet we, being 
sober folk, will just stroll away up through the church- 
yard, and by the old yew-tree ; and get a quiet dish of 
tea and a parle with our gossips, as the steady ones of 
our village do, and so to bed. 

That’s the fair true sketch, as far as it goes, of one 
of the larger village feasts in the Vale of Berks, when I 
was a little boy. They are much altered for the worse, 
I am told. I haven’t been at one these twenty years, but 
I have been at the statute fairs in some west-country 
towns, where servants are hired, and greater abominations 
cannot be found. What village feasts have come to, I 
fear, in many cases, may be read in the pages of Yeast 
(though I never saw one so bad — thank God). 

Do you want to know why ? It is because, as I said 
before, gentlefolk and farmers have left off joining or 
taking an interest in them. They don’t- either subscribe 
to the prizes, or go down and enjoy the fun. 

Is this a good or a bad sign ? I hardly know. Bad, 
62 


The Veast 


sure enough, if it only arises from the further separation 
of classes consequent on twenty years of buying cheap 
and selling dear, and its accompanying overwork; or 
because our sons and daughters have their hearts in Lon- 
don Club-life, or so-called Society, instead of in the old 
English home duties ; because farmers’ sons are aping 
fine gentlemen, and farmers’ daughters caring more to 
make bad foreign music than good English cheeses. 
Good, perhaps, if it be that the time for the old “veast” 
has gone by, that it is no longer the healthy sound ex- 
pression of English country holiday-making ; that, in 
fact, we as a nation have got beyond it, and are in a tran- 
sition state, feeling for and soon likely to find some better 
substitute. 

Only I have just got this to say before I quit the text. 
Don’t let reformers of any sort think that they are going 
really to lay hold of the working boys and young men 
of England by any educational grapnel whatever, which 
hasn’t some bona fide equivalent for the games of the old 
country “ veast ” in it ; something to put in the place of 
the back-swording and wrestling and racing ; something 
to try the muscles of men’s bodies, and the endurance of 
their hearts, and to make them rejoice in their strength. 
In all the new-fangled comprehensive plans which I see, 
this is all left out : and the consequence is, that your great 
Mechanics’ Institutes end in intellectual priggism, and 
your Christian Young Men’s Societies in religious Phar- 
isaism. 

Well, well, we must bide our time. Life isn’t all beer 

^3 


Tom Brown’s School Days 


and skittles — but beer and skittles, or something better 
of the same sort, must form a good part of every English- 
man’s education. If I could only drive this into the heads 
of you rising Parliamentary Lords, and young swells who 
“ have your ways made for you,” as the saying is — you, 
who frequent palaver houses and West-end clubs, waiting 
always ready to strap yourselves on to the back of poor 
dear old John, as soon as the present used-up lot (your 
fathers and uncles), who sit there on the great Parliamen- 
tary-majorities’ pack-saddles, and make believe they’re 
guiding him with their red-tape bridle, tumble, or have 
to be lifted off! 

I don’t think much of you yet — I wish I could ; 
though you do go talking and lecturing up and down the 
country to crowded audiences, and are busy with all sorts 
of philanthropic intellectualism, and circulating libraries 
and museums, and Heaven only knows what besides ; and 
try to make us think, through newspaper reports, that 
you are, even as we, of the working classes. But, bless 
your hearts, we “ain’t so green,” though lots of us of all 
sorts toady you enough certainly, and try to make you 
think so. 

I’ll tell you what to do now : instead of all this trum- 
peting and fuss, which is only the old Parliamentary-ma- 
jority dodge over again — just you go each of you (you’ve 
plenty of time for it, if you’ll only give up t’other line) 
and quietly make three or four friends, real friends, among 
us. You’ll find a little trouble in getting at the right 
sort, because such birds don’t come lightly to your lure — 
64 


The Veast 


but found they may be. Take, say, two out of the pro- 
fessions, lawyer, parson, doctor — which you will ; one 
out of trade, and three or four out of the working classes 
— tailors, engineers, carpenters, engravers — there's plenty 
of choice. Let them be men of your own ages, mind, and 
ask them to your homes ; introduce them to your wives 
and sisters, and get introduced to theirs ; give them good 
dinners, and talk to them about what is really at the bot- 
tom of your heart, and box, and run, and row with them, 
when you have a chance. Do all this honestly as man to 
man, and by the time you come to ride old John, you'll 
be able to do something more than sit on his back, and 
may feel his mouth with some stronger bridle than a red- 
tape one. 

Ah, if you only would ! But you have got too far out 
of the right rut, I fear. Too much over-civilization, and 
the deceitfulness of riches. It is easier for a camel to go 
through the eye of a needle. More's the pity. I never 
came across but two of you, who could value a man 
wholly and solely for what was in him; who thought 
themselves verily and indeed of the same flesh and blood 
as John Jones the attorney's clerk, and Bill Smith the 
costermonger, and could act as if they thought so. 


Vol. i6— C 


65 


CHAPTER III 


SUNDRY WARS AND ALLIANCES 

P OOR old Benjy ! the ‘‘ rheumatiz ” has much to 
answer for all through English country sides, but 
it never played a scurvier trick than in laying thee 
by the heels, when thou wast yet in a green old age. The 
enemy, which had long been carrying on a sort of border 
warfare, and trying his ‘strength against Benjy's on the 
battle-field of his hands and legs, now, mustering all his 
forces, began laying siege to the citadel, and overrunning 
the whole country. Benjy was seized in the back and 
loins ; and though he made strong and brave fight, it was 
soon clear enough that all which could be beaten of poor 
old Benjy would have to give in before long. 

It was as much as he could do now, with the help of 
his big stick and frequent stops, to hobble down to the 
canal with Master Tom, and bait his hook for him, and 
sit and watch his angling, telling him quaint old country 
stories; and when Tom had no sport, and detecting a 
rat some hundred yards or so off along the bank, would 
rush off with Toby the turnspit terrier, his other faithful 
companion, in bootless pursuit, he might have tumbled 
in and been drowned twenty times over before Benjy 
could have got near him. 

66 


Sundry Wars and Alliances 

Cheery and unmindful of himself as Benjy was, this 
loss of locomotive power bothered him greatly. He had 
got a new object in his old age, and was just beginning 
to think himself useful again in the world. He feared 
much too lest Master Tom should fall back again into the 
hands of Charity and the women. So he tried everything 
he could think of to get set up. He even went an ex- 
pedition to the dwelling of one of those queer mortals, 
who — say what we will, and reason how we will — do cure 
simple people of diseases of one kind or another without 
the aid of physic ; and so get to themselves the reputa- 
tion of using charms, and inspire for thernselves and their 
dwellings great respect, not to say fear, among a simple 
folk such as thedwellers in the Vale of White Horse. 
Where this power, or whatever else it may be, descends 
upon the shoulders of a man whose ways are not straight, 
he becomes a nuisance to the neigborhood ; a receiver of 
stolen goods, giver of love-potions, and deceiver of silly 
women ; the avowed enemy of law and order, of justices of 
the peace, head-boroughs, and gamekeepers. Such a man 
in fact as was recently caught tripping, and deservedly 
dealt with by the Leeds justices for seducing a girl who 
had come to him to get back a faithless lover, and has 
been convicted of bigamy since then. Sometimes, how- 
ever, they are of quite a different stamp, men who pretend 
to nothing, and are with difficulty persuaded to exercise 
their occult arts in the simplest cases. 

Of this latter sort was old farmer Ives, as he was called, 
the “wise man” to whom Benjy resorted (taking Tom 
67 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

with him as usual), in the early spring of the year next 
after the feast described in the last chapter. Why he was 
called “ farmer*' I cannot say, unless it be that he was the 
owner of a cow, a pig or two, and some poultry, which 
he maintained on about an acre of land enclosed from the 
middle of a wild common, on which probably his father 
had squatted before lords of manors looked as keenly 
after their rights ^s they do now. Here he had lived no 
one knew how long, a solitary man. It was often rumored 
that he was to be turned out, and his cottage pulled down, 
but somehow it never came to pass ; and his pigs and cow 
went grazing on the common, and his geese hissed at the 
passing children and at the heels of the horse of my lord’s 
steward, who often rode by with a covetous eye on the 
enclosure, still unmolested. His dwelling was some miles 
from our village ; so Benjy, who was half ashamed of his 
errand, and wholly unable to walk there, had to exercise 
much ingenuity to get the means of transporting himself 
and Tom thither without exciting suspicion. However, 
one fine May morning he managed to borrow the old 
blind pony of our friend the publican, and Tom persuaded 
Madam Brown to give him a holiday to spend with old 
Benjy, and to lend them the Squire’s light cart, stored 
with bread and cold meat and a bottle of ale. And so 
the two in high glee started behind old Dobbin, and jogged 
along the deep-rutted plashy roads, which had not been 
mended after their winter’s wear, toward the dwelling of the 
wizard. About noon they passed the gate which opened 
on to the large common, and old Dobbin toiled slowly 
68 


Sundry Wars and Alliances 

Up the hill, while Benjy pointed out a little deep dingle 
on the left, out of which welled a tiny stream. As they 
crept up the hill the tops of a few birch-trees came in sight, 
and blue smoke curling up through their delicate light 
boughs; and then the little white thatched home and patch 
of enclosed ground of farmer Ives, lying cradled in the 
dingle, with the gay gorse common rising behind and on 
both sides ; while in front, after traversing a gentle slope, 
the eye might travel for miles and miles over the rich vale. 
They now left the main road and struck into a green tract 
over the common marked lightly with wheel and horse- 
shoe, which led down into the dingle and stopped at the 
rough gate of farmer Ives. Here they found the farmer, 
an iron-gray old man, with a bushy eyebrow and strong 
aquiline nose, busied in one of his vocations. He was a 
horse and cow doctor, and was tending a sick beast which 
had been sent up to be cured. Benjy hailed him as an 
old friend, and he returned the greeting cordially enough, 
looking however hard for a moment both at Benjy and 
Tom, to see whether there was more in their visit than 
appeared at first sight. It was a work of some difficulty 
and danger for Benjy to reach the ground, which however 
he managed to do without mishap ; and then he devoted 
himself to unharnessing Dobbin, and turning him out for 
a graze (“ a run ” one could not say of that virtuous steed) 
on the common. This done, he extricated the cold pro- 
visions from the cart, and they entered the farmer's wicket; 
and he, shutting up the knife with which he was taking 
maggots out of the cow's back and sides, accompanied 
69 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

them toward the cottage. A big old lurcher got up slowly 
from the door-stone, stretching first one hind leg and then 
the other, and taking Tom’s caresses and the presence of 
Toby, who kept however at a respectful distance, with 
equal indifference. 

“ Us be cum to pay’e a visit. I’ve a been long 
minded to do’t for old sake’s sake, only I vinds I dwont 
get about now as I’d used to’t. I be so plaguy bad wi’ 
th’ rumatiz in my back.”. Benjy paused, in hopes of 
drawing the farmer at once on the subject of his ailment 
without further direct application. 

Ah, I see as you bean’t quite so lissom as you was,” 
replied fhe farmer with a grim smile, as he lifted the latch 
of his door; ‘‘we bean’t so young as we was, nother on 
us, wuss luck.” 

The farmer’s cottage was very like those of the better 
class of peasantry in general. A snug chimney corner 
with two seats, and a small carpet on the hearth, an 
old flint gun and a pair of spurs over the fireplace, a 
dresser with shelves on which some bright pewter plates 
and crockeryware were arranged, an old walnut table, a 
few chairs and settees, some framed samplers, and an old 
print or two, and a bookcase with some dozen volumes 
on the walls, a rack with flitches of bacon, and other stores 
fastened to the ceiling, and you have the best part of the 
furniture. No sign of occult art is to be seen unless 
the bundles of dried herbs hanging to the rack and 
in the ingle, and the row of labelled phials on one of the 
shelves, betoken it. 


70 


Sundry Wars and Alliances 

Tom played about with some kittens who occupied 
the hearth, and with a goat who walked demurely in at 
the open door, while their host and Benjy spread the 
table for dinner — and was soon engaged in conflict with 
the cold meat, to which he did much honor. The two 
old men’s talk was of old comrades and their deeds, mute 
inglorious Miltons of the Vale, and of the doings thirty 
years back — which didn’t interest him much, except when 
they spoke of the making of the canal, and then indeed 
he began to listen with all his ears, and learned to his no 
small wonder that his dear and wonderful canal had not 
been there always — was not in fact so old as Benjy or 
farmer Ives, which caused a strange commotion in his 
small brain. 

After dinner Benjy called attention to a wart which 
Tom had on the knuckles of his hand, and which the 
family doctor had been trying his skill on without suc- 
cess, and begged the farmer to charm it away. Farmer 
Ives looked at it, muttered something or another over 
it, and cut some notches in a short stick, which he 
handed to Benjy, giving him instructions for cutting 
it down on certain days, and cautioning Tom not to 
meddle with the wart for a fortnight. And then they 
strolled out and sat on a bench in the sun with their pipes, 
and the pigs came up and grunted sociably and let Tom 
scratch them ; and the farmer, seeing how he liked ani- 
mals, stood up and held his arms in the air and gave a 
call, which brought a flock of pigeons wheeling and dashing 
through the birch-trees. They settled down in clusters 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

on the farmer’s arms and shoulders, making love to him 
and scrambling over one another’s backs to get to his 
face; and then he threw them all off, and they fluttered 
about close by, and lighted on him again and again when 
he held up his arms. All the creatures about the place 
were clean and fearless, quite unlike their relations else- 
where; and Tom begged to be taught how to make all 
the pigs and cows and poultry in our village tame, at 
which the farmer only gave one of his grim chuckles. 

It wasn’t till they were just ready to go, and old Dob- 
bin was harnessed, that Benjy broached the subject of his 
rheumatism again, detailing his symptoms one by one. 
Poor old boy ! He hoped the farmer could charm it away 
as easily as he could Tom’s wart, and was ready with 
equal faith to put another notched stick into his other 
pocket, for the cure of his own ailments. The physician 
shook his head, but nevertheless produced a bottle and 
handed it to Benjy with instructions for use. “ Not as 
’t’ll do’e much good — leastways I be afeared not,” shad- 
ing his eyes with his hand and looking up at them in the 
cart ; “ there’s only one thing as I know on, as’ll cure 
old folks like you and I o’ th’ rhumatis.” 

‘‘Wot be that then, farmer?” inquired Benjy. 

“ Churchyard mould,” said the old iron-gray man, 
with another chuckle. And so they said their good-bys 
and went their ways home. Tom’s wart was gone in a 
fortnight, but not so Benjy’s rheumatism, which laid him 
by the heels more and more. And though Tom still 
spent many an hour with him, as he sat on a bench in 
72 


Sundry Wars and Alliances 

the sunshine, or by the chimney corner when it was 
cold, he soon had to seek elsewhere for his regular com- 
panions. 

Tom had been accustomed often to accompany his 
mother in her visits to the cottages, and had thereby 
made acquaintance with many of the village boys of 
his own age. There was Job Rudkin, son of widow 
Rudkin, the most bustling woman in the parish. How 
she could ever have had such a stolid boy as Job for a 
child must always remain a mystery. The first time 
Tom went to their cottage with his mother Job was not 
indoors, but he entered soon after, and stood with both 
hands in his pockets staring at Tom. Widow Rudkin, 
who would have had to cross Madam to get at young 
Hopeful — a breach of good manners of which she was 
wholly incapable — began a series of pantomime signs, 
which only puzzled him, and at last, unable to contain 
herself longer, burst out with, ‘‘Job! Job! where's thy 
cap ? " 

“What! beant'e on ma' head, mother?" replied Job, 
slowly extricating one hand from a pocket and feeling for 
the article in question ; which he found on his head sure 
enough, and left there, to his mother's horror and Tom's 
great delight. 

Then there was poor Jacob Dodson, the half-witted 
boy, who ambled about cheerfully, undertaking messages 
and little helpful odds and ends for every one, which, 
however, poor Jacob managed always hopelessly to em- 
brangle. Everything came to pieces in his hands, and 
73 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

nothing would stop in his head. They nicknamed him 
Jacob Doodle-calf. 

But above all there was Harry Winburn, the quickest 
and best boy in the parish. He might be a year older 
than Tom, but was very little bigger, and he was the 
Crichton of our village boys. He could wrestle and 
climb and run better than all the rest, and learned all that 
the schoolmaster could teach him faster than that worthy 
at all liked. He was a boy to be proud of, with his 
curly brown hair, keen gray eyes, straight active figure, 
and little ears and hands and feet, ‘‘ as fine as a lord’s,*’ 
as Charity remarked to Tom one day, talking as usual 
great nonsense. Lords’ hands and ears and feet are just 
as ugly as other folks’ when they are children, as any one 
may convince themselves if they like to look. Tight 
boots and gloves, and doing nothing with them, I allow 
make a difference by the time they are twenty. 

Now that Benjy was laid on the shelf, and his young 
brothers were still under petticoat government, Tom, in 
search of companions, began to cultivate the village boys 
generally more and more. Squire Brown, be it said, was 
a true blue Tory to the backbone, and believed honestly 
that the powers which be were ordained by God, and that 
loyalty and steadfast obedience were men’s first duties. 
Whether it were in consequence or in spite of his political 
creed, I do not mean to give an opinion, though I have 
one ; but certain it is, that he held therewith divers so- 
cial principles not generally supposed to be true blue in 
color. Foremost of these, and the one which the 
74 


Sundry Wars and Alliances 

Squire loved to propound above all others, was the belief 
that a man is to be valued wholly and solely for that 
which he is in himself, for that which stands up in the 
four fleshly walls of him, apart from clothes, rank, for- 
tune, and all externals whatsoever. Which belief I take 
to be a wholesome corrective of all political opinions, and, 
if held sincerely, to make all opinions equally harmless, 
whether they be blue, red or green. As a necessary 
corollary to this belief. Squire Brown held further that it 
didn't matter a straw whether his son associated with 
lords' sons, or plowmen's sons, provided they were 
brave and honest. He himself had played football and 
gone birds'-nesting with the farmers whom he met at 
vestry and the laborers who tilled their fields, and so had 
his father and grandfather with their progenitors. So he 
encouraged Tom in his intimacy with the boys of the 
village, and forwarded it by all means in his power, and 
gave them the run of a close for a playground, and pro- 
vided bats and balls and a football for their sports. 

Our village was blessed among other things with a 
well-endowed school. The building stood by itself, apart 
from the master's house, on an angle of ground where 
three roads met ; an old gray stone building with a steep 
roof and mullioned windows. On one of the opposite 
angles stood Squire Brown's stables and kennel, with their 
backs to the road, over which towered a great elm-tree ; on 
the third stood the village carpenter and wheelwright's large 
open shop, and his house and the schoolmaster's, with 
long low eaves, under which the swallows built by scores. 
75 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

The moment Tom’s lessons were over, he would now 
get him down to this corner by the stables, and watch till 
the boys came out of school. He prevailed on the 
groom to cut notches for him in the bark of the elm, so 
that he could climb into the lower branches, and there 
he would sit watching the school door, and speculating on 
the possibility of turning the elm into a dwelling-place 
for himself and friends after the manner of the Swiss 
Family Robinson. But the school hours were long and 
Tom’s patience short, so that soon he began to descend 
into the street, and go and peep in at the school door 
and the wheelwright’s shop, and look out for something 
to while away the time. Now the wheelwright was a 
choleric man, and one fine afternoon, returning from a 
short absence, found Tom occupied with one of his pet 
adzes, the edge of which was fast vanishing under our 
hero’s care. A speedy flight saved Tom from all but one 
sound cuff on the ear, but he resented this unjustifiable 
interruption of his first essays at carpentering, and still 
more the further proceedings of the wheelwright, who cut 
a switch and hung it over the door of his workshop, 
threatening to use it upon Tom if he came within twenty 
yards of his gate. So Tom, to retaliate, commenced a 
war upon the swallows who dwelt under the wheelwright’s 
eaves, whom he harassed with sticks and stones, and be- 
ing fleeter of foot than his enemy, escaped all punish- 
ment and kept him in perpetual anger. Moreover his 
presence about the school door began to incense the mas- 
ter, as the boys in that neighborhood neglected their les- 
76 


Sundry Wars and Alliances 

sons in consequence ; and more than once he issued into 
the porch, rod in hand, just as Tom beat a hasty retreat. 
And he and the wheelwright, laying their heads together, 
resolved to acquaint the Squire with Tom's afternoon 
occupations ; but in order to do it with effect, determined 
to take him captive and lead him away to judgment fresh 
from his evil doings. This they would have found some 
difficulty in doing had Tom continued the war single- 
handed, or rather single-footed, for he would have taken 
to the deepest part of Pebbly Brook to escape them ; but, 
like other active powers, he was ruined by his alliances. 
Poor Jacob Doodle-calf could not go to school with the 
other boys, and one fine afternoon, about three o’clock 
(the school broke up at four), Tom found him ambling 
about the street, and pressed him into a visit to the school 
porch. Jacob, always ready to do what he was asked, 
consented, and the two stole down to the school together. 
Tom first reconnoitred the wheelwright’s shop, and see- 
ing no signs of activity, thought all safe in that quarter, 
and ordered at once an advance of all his troops upon the 
school porch. The door of the school was ajar, and the 
boys seated on the nearest bench at once recognized and 
opened a correspondence with the invaders. Tom, wax- 
ing bold, kept putting his head into the school and mak- 
ing faces at the master when his back was turned. Poor 
Jacob, not in the least comprehending the situation, and 
in high glee at finding himself so near the school, which 
he had never been allowed to enter, suddenly, in a fit of 
enthusiasm, pushed by Tom, and ambling three steps into 
77 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

the school, stood there, looking round him and nodding 
with a self-approving smile. The master, who was stoop- 
ing over a boy’s slate, with his back to the door, became 
aware of something unusual, and turned quickly round. 
Tom rushed at Jacob, and began dragging him back by 
his smock-frock, and the master made at them, scattering 
forms and boys in his career. Even now they might have 
escaped, but that in the porch, barring retreat, appeared 
the crafty wheelwright, who had been watching all their 
proceedings. So they were seized, the school dismissed, 
and Tom and Jacob led away to Squire Brown as lawful 
prize, the boys following to the gate in groups, and specu- 
lating on the result. 

The Squire was very angry at first, but the interview, 
by Tom’s pleading, ended in a compromise. Tom was 
not to go near the school till three o’clock, and only then 
if he had done his own lessons well, in which case he was 
to be the bearer of a note to the master from Squire Brown, 
and the master agreed in such case to release ten or twelve 
of the best boys an hour before the time of breaking up, 
to go oflF and play in the close. The wheelwright’s adzes 
and swallows were to be forever respected ; and that hero 
and the master withdrew to the servants’ hall, to drink the 
Squire’s health, well satisfied with their day’s work. 

The second act of Tom’s life may now be said to have 
begun. The war of independence had been over for some 
time: none of the women now, not even his mother’s 
maid, dared offer to help him in dressing or washing. 
Between ourselves, he had often at first to run to Benjy 
78 


Sundry Wars and Alliances 

in an unfinished state of toilet ; Charity and the rest of 
them seemed to take a delight in putting impossible but- 
tons and ties in the middle of his back ; but he would have 
gone without nether integuments altogether sooner than 
have had recourse to female valeting. He had a room to 
himself, and his father gave him sixpence a week pocket- 
money. All this he had achieved by Benjy’s advice and 
assistance. But now he had conquered another step in 
life, the step which all real boys so long to make; he 
had got among his equals in age and strength, and could 
measure himself with other boys ; he lived with those 
whose pursuits and wishes and ways were the same in kind 
as his own. 

The little governess who had lately been installed in 
the house found her work grow wondrously easy, for 
Tom slaved at his lessons in order to make sure of his 
note to the schoolmaster. So there were very few days 
in the week in which Tom and the village boys were not 
playing in their close by three o’clock. Prisoner’s base, 
rounders, high-cock-a-lorum, cricket, football, he was 
soon initiated into the delights of them all ; and though 
most of the boys were older than himself, he managed to 
hold his own very well. He was naturally active and 
strong, and quick of eye and hand, and had the advan- 
tage of light shoes and well-fitting dress, so that in a short 
time he could run and jump and climb with any of them. 

They generally finished their regular games half an 
hour or so before tea-time, and then began trials of skill 
and strength in many ways. Some of them would catch 
79 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

the Shetland pony, who was turned out in the field, and 
get two or three together on his back, and the little rogue, 
enjoying the fun, would gallop off for fifty yards, and 
then turn round, or stop short and shoot them on to the 
turf, and then graze quietly on till he felt another load; 
others played peg-top or marbles, while a few of the big- 
ger ones stood up for a bout at wrestling. Tom at first 
only looked on at this pastime, but it had peculiar attrac- 
tions for him, and he could not keep long out of it. 
Elbow and collar wrestling as practiced in the western 
counties was, next to back-swording, the way to fame for 
the youth of the Vale; and all the boys knew the rules 
of it, and were more or less expert. But Job Rudkin 
and Harry Winburn were the stars, the former stiff and 
sturdy, with legs like small towers, the latter pliant as 
india-rubber, and quick as lightning. Day after day they 
stood foot to foot, and offered first one hand and then 
the other, and grappled and closed and swayed and 
strained, till a well-aimed crook of the heel or thrust of 
the loin took effect, and a fair back-fall ended the matter. 
And Tom watched with all his eyes and first challenged 
one of the less scientific and threw him ; and so one by 
one wrestled his way up to the leaders. 

Then indeed for months he had a poor time of it ; it 
was not long indeed before he could manage to keep his 
legs against Job, for that hero was slow of offence, and 
gained his victories chiefly by allowing others to throw 
themselves against his immovable legs and loins. But 
Harry Winburn was undeniably his master; from the 
8o 


Sundry Wars and Alliances 

first clutch of hands when they stood up, down to the 
last trip which sent him on his back on the turf, he felt 
that Harry knew more and could do more than he. 
Luckily, Harry’s bright unconsciousness and Tom’s 
natural good temper kept them from ever quarrelling; 
and so Tom worked on and on, and trod more and more 
nearly on Harry’s heels, and at last mastered all the 
dodges and falls except one. This one was Harry’s own 
particular invention and pet ; he scarcely ever used it ex- 
cept when hard pressed, but then out it came, and as sure 
as it did, over went poor Tom. He thought about that 
fall at his meals, in his walks, when he lay awake in bed, 
in his dreams — but all to no purpose ; until Harry one 
day in his open way suggested to him how he thought it 
should be met, and in a week from that time the boys 
were equal, save only the slight difference of strength in 
Harry’s favor which some extra ten months of age gave. 
Tom had often afterwards reason to be thankful for that 
early drilling, and above all for having mastered Harry 
Winburn’s fall. 

Besides their home games, on Saturdays the boys 
would wander all over the neighborhood; sometimes to 
the downs, or up to the camp, where they cut their ini- 
tials out in the springy turf, and watched the hawks 
soaring, and the “ peert ” bird, as Harry Winburn called 
the gray plover, gorgeous in his wedding feathers ; and 
so home, racing down the Manger with many a roll 
among the thistles, or through Uffington wood to watch 
the fox cubs playing in the green rides ; sometimes to 
8i 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

Rosy Brook, to cut long whispering reeds which grew 
there, to make pan-pipes of ; sometimes to Moor Mills, 
where was a piece of old forest land, with short browsed 
turf and tufted brambly thickets stretching under the 
oaks, among which rumor declared that a raven, last of 
his race, still lingered ; or to the sand-hills, in vain quest 
of rabbits; and bird’s-nesting, in the season, anywhere 
and everywhere. 

The few neighbors of the Squire’s own rank every 
now and then would shrug their shoulders as they drove 
or rode by a party of boys with Tom in the middle, 
carrying along bulrushes or whispering reeds, or great 
bundles of cowslip and meadow-sweet, or young starlings 
or magpies, or other spoil of wood, brook, or meadow ; 
and Lawyer Red-tape might mutter to Squire Straight- 
back at the Board, that no good would come of the young 
Browns if they were let run wild with all the dirty village 
boys, whom the best farmers’ sons even would not play 
with. And the Squire might reply with a shake of his 
head, that his sons only mixed with their equals, and 
never went into the village without the governess or a 
footman. But, luckily. Squire Brown was full as stiff- 
backed as his neighbors, and so went on his own way ; 
and Tom and his younger brothers, as they grew up, 
went on playing with the village boys, without the idea 
of equality or inequality (except in wrestling, running 
and climbing) ever entering their heads, as it doesn’t till 
it’s put there by Jack Nastys or fine ladies’ maids. 

I don’t mean to say it would be the case in all vil- 
82 


Sundry Wars and Alliances 

lages, but it certainly was so in this one ; the village boys 
were full as manly and honest, and certainly purer, than 
those in a higher rank; and Tom got more harm from 
his equals in his first fortnight at a private school, where 
he went when he was nine years old, than he had from 
his village friends from the day he left Charity's apron- 
strings. 

Great was the grief among the village schoolboys 
when Tom drove off with the Squire, one August morn- 
ing, to meet the coach on his way to school. Each of 
them had given him some little present of the best that 
he had, and his small private box was full of peg-tops, 
white marbles (called ‘‘alley-taws” in the Vale), screws, 
birds' eggs, whip-cord, jews'-harps, and other miscella- 
neous boys' wealth. Poor Jacob Doodle-calf, in floods 
of tears, had pressed upon him with spluttering earnest- 
ness his lame pet hedgehog (he had always some poor 
broken-down beast or bird by him); but this Tom had 
been obliged to refuse by the Squire’s order. He had 
given them all a great tea under the big elm in their play- 
ground, for which Madam Brown had supplied the big- 
gest cake ever seen in our village; and Tom was really 
as sorry to leave them as they to lose him, but his sorrow 
was not unmixed with the pride and excitement of mak- 
ing a new step in life. 

And this feeling carried him through his first parting 
with his mother better than could have been expected. 
There love was as fair and whole as human love can be, 
perfect self-sacrifice on the one side meeting a young and 

83 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

true heart on the other. It is not within the scope of my 
book, however, to speak of family relations, or I should 
have much to say on the subject of English mothers — 
ay, and of English fathers, and sisters, and brothers too. 

Neither have I room to speak of our private schools ; 
what I have to say is about public schools, those much- 
abused and much-belauded institutions peculiar to Eng- 
land. So we must hurry through Master Tom’s year at 
a private school as fast as we can. 

It was a fair average specimen, kept by a gentleman, 
with another gentleman as second master ; but it was little 
enough of the real work they did — merely coming into 
school when lessons were prepared and all ready to be 
heard. The whole discipline of the school out of lesson 
hours was in the hands of the two ushers, one of whom 
was always with the boys in their playground, in the school, 
at meals — in fact, at all times and everywhere, till they 
were fairly in bed at night. 

Now the theory of private schools is (or was) constant 
supervision out of school ; therein differing fundamentally 
from that of public schools. 

It may be right or wrong ; but if right, this supervi- 
sion surely ought to be the especial work of the head- 
master, the responsible person. The object of all schools 
is not to ram Latin and Greek into boys, but to make 
them good English boys, good future citizens ; and by 
far the most important part of that work must be done, 
or not done, out of school hours. To leave it, therefore, 
in the hands of inferior men, is just giving up the highest 
84 


Sundry Wars and Alliances 

and hardest part of the work of education. Were I a 
private schoolmaster, I should say, let who will hear the 
boys their lessons, but let me live with them when they 
are at play and rest. 

The two ushers at Tom’s first school were not gentle- 
men, and very poorly educated, and were only driving their 
poor trade of usher to get such living as they could out of 
it. They were not bad men, but had little heart for their 
work, and of course were bent on making it as easy as pos- 
sible. One of the methods by which they endeavored to 
accomplish this, was by encouraging tale-bearing, which 
had become a frightfully common vice in the school in 
consequence, and had sapped all the foundations of school 
morality. Another was, by favoring grossly the biggest 
boys, who alone could have given them much trouble ; 
whereby those young gentlemen became most abominable 
tyrants, oppressing the little boys in all the small, mean 
ways which prevail in private schools. 

Poor little Tom was made dreadfully unhappy in his 
first week, by a catastrophe which happened to his first 
letter home. With huge labor he had, on the very evening 
of his arrival, managed to fill two sides of a sheet of let- 
ter-paper with assurances of his love for dear mamma, his 
happiness at school, and his resolves to do all she would 
wish. This missive, with the help of the boy who sat at 
the desk next him, also a new arrival, he managed to fold 
successfully : but this done, they were sadly put to it for 
means of sealing. Envelopes were then unknown, they 
had no wax, and dared not disturb the stillness of the 
85 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

evening school-room by getting up and going to ask the 
usher for some. At length Tom’s friend, being of an in- 
genious turn of mind, suggested sealing with ink, and the 
letter was accordingly stuck down with a blob of ink, and 
duly handed by Tom, on his way to bed, to the house- 
keeper to be posted. It was not till four days afterward, 
that that good dame sent for him, and produced the pre- 
cious letter, and some wax, saying, “ Oh, Master Brown, 
I forgot to tell you before, but your letter isn’t sealed.” 
Poor Tom took the wax in silence and sealed his letter, 
with a huge lump rising in his throat during the process, 
and then ran away to a quiet corner of the playground and 
burst into an agony of tears. The idea of his mother 
waiting day after day for the letter he had promised her 
at once, and perhaps thinking him forgetful of her, when 
he had done all in his power to make good his promise, 
was as bitter a grief as any which he had to undergo for 
many a long year. His wrath then was proportionately 
violent when he was aware of two boys, who stopped close 
by him ; one of whom, a fat gaby of a fellow, pointed at 
him and called him “Young mammy-sick ! ” Whereupon 
Tom arosej and giving vent thus to his grief and shame 
and rage, smote his derider on the nose, and made it bleed 
— which sent that young worthy howling to the usher, 
who reported Tom for violent and unprovoked assault 
and battery. Hitting in the face was a felony punishable 
with flogging, other hitting only a misdemeanor — a dis- 
tinction not altogether clear in principle. Tom however 
escaped the penalty by pleading “primum tempus” ; and 
86 


Sundry Wars and Alliances 

having written a second letter to his mother, enclosing 
some forget-me-nots, which he picked on their first half- 
holiday walk, felt quite happy again, and began to enjoy 
vastly a good deal of his new life. 

These half-holiday walks were the great events of the 
week. The whole fifty boys started after dinner with one 
of the ushers for Hazeldown, which was distant some mile 
or so from the school. Hazeldown measured some three 
miles round, and in the neighborhood were several woods 
full of all manner of birds and butterflies. The usher 
walked slowly round the down with such boys as liked to 
accompany him ; the rest scattered in all directions, being 
only bound to appear again when the usher had com- 
pleted his round, and accompany him home. They were 
forbidden, however, to go anywhere except on the down 
and into the woods, the village being especially prohibited, 
where huge bulls'-eyes and unctuous toffy might be pro- 
cured in exchange for coin of the realm. 

Various were the amusements to which the boys then 
betook themselves. At the entrance of the down there 
was a steep hillock, like the barrows of Tom’s own downs. 
This mound was the weekly scene of terrific combats, at 
a game called by the queer name of mud-patties.” The 
boys who played divided into sides under different lead- 
ers, and one side occupied the mound. Then, all parties 
having provided themselves with many sods of turf, cut 
with their bread-and-cheese knives, the side which re- 
mained at the bottom proceeded to assault the mound, 
advancing upon all sides under cover of a heavy fire of 
87 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

turfs, and then struggling for victory with the occupants, 
which was theirs as soon as they could, even for a mo- 
ment, clear the summit, when they in turn became the 
besieged. It was a good, rough, dirty game, and of 
great use in counteracting the sneaking tendencies of the 
school. Then others of the boys spread over the downs, 
looking for the holes of humble-bees and mice, which 
they dug up without mercy, often (I regret to say) kill- 
ing and skinning the unlucky mice, and (I do not regret 
to say) getting well stung by the humble-bees. Others 
went after butterflies and birds’ eggs in their seasons ; 
and Tom found on Hazeldown, for the first time, the 
beautiful little blue butterfly with golden spots on his 
wings, which he had never seen on his own downs, and 
dug out his first sand-marten’s nest. This latter achieve- 
ment resulted in a flogging, for the sand-martens built in 
a high bank close to the village, consequently out of 
bounds ; but one of the bolder spirits of the school, who 
never could be happy unless he was doing something 
to which risk attached, easily persuaded Tom to break 
bounds and visit the marten’s bank. From whence, it 
being only a step to the tolFy-shop, what could be more 
simple than to go on there and fill their pockets ; or 
what more certain than that on their return, a distribu- 
tion of treasure having been made, the usher should 
shortly detect the forbidden smell of bulls’-eyes, and, 
a search ensuing, discover the state of the breeches- 
pockets of Tom and his ally ? 

This ally of Tom’s was indeed a desperate hero in 
88 


Sundry Wars and Alliances 

the sight of the boys, and feared as one who dealt in 
magic, or something approaching thereto, which reputa- 
tion came to him in this wise. The boys went to bed at 
eight, and, of course, consequently lay awake in the dark 
for an hour or two, telling ghost stories by turns. One 
night when it came to his turn, and he had dried up 
their souls by his story, he suddenly declared that he 
would make a fiery hand appear on the door, and, to the 
astonishment and terror of the boys in his room, a hand, 
or something like it, in pale light, did then and there 
appear. The fame of this exploit having spread to the 
other rooms, and being discredited there, the young nec- 
romancer declared that the same wonder would appear 
in all the rooms in turn, which it accordingly did ; and 
the whole circumstances having been privately reported to 
one of the ushers as usual, that functionary, after listen- 
ing about at the doors of the rooms, by a sudden descent 
caught the performer in night shirt, with a box of phos- 
phorus in his guilty hand. Lucifer-matches and all the 
present facilities for getting acquainted with fire were then 
unknown ; the very name of phosphorus had something 
diabolic in it to the boy-mind ; so Tom's ally, at the cost 
of a sound flogging, earned what many older folk covet 
much — the very decided fear of most of his companions. 

He was a remarkable boy, and by no means a bad 
one. Tom stuck to him till he left, and got into many 
scrapes by so doing. But he was the great opponent of 
the tale-bearing habits of the school, and the open enemy 
of the ushers ; and so worthy of all support. 

89 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

Tom imbibed a fair amount of Latin and Greek at the 
school, but somehow on the whole it didn’t suit him, or 
he it, and in the holidays he was constantly working the 
Squire to send him at once to a public school. Great was 
his joy then, when in the middle of his third half-year, in 
October, 1 83-, a fever broke out in the village, and the 
master having himself slightly sickened of it, the whole of 
the boys were sent off at a day’s notice to their respective 
homes. 

The Squire was not quite so pleased as Master Tom 
to see that young gentleman’s brown merry face appear at 
home, some two months before the proper time, for Christ- 
mas holidays : and so after putting on his thinking cap, 
he retired to his study and wrote several letters ; the re- 
sult of which was that one morning at the breakfast-table, 
about a fortnight after Tom’s return, he addressed his 
wife with — My dear, I have arranged that Tom shall 
go to Rugby at once, for the last six weeks of this half- 
year, instead of wasting them riding and loitering about 
home. It is very kind of the Doctor to allow it. Will 
you see that his things are all ready by Friday, when I 
shall take him up to town, and send him down the next 
day by himself.” 

Mrs. Brown was prepared for the announcement, and 
merely suggested a doubt whether Tom were yet old 
enough to travel by himself. However, finding both 
father and son against her on this point, she gave in like 
a wise woman, and proceeded to prepare Tom’s kit for 
his launch into a public school. 

90 


CHAPTER IV 


THE STAGE COACH 

“ Let the steam-pot hiss till it’s hot, 

Give me the speed of the Tantivy trot.” 

— Coaching song by R. E. E. Warburton^ Esq. 

\ 

N OW, sir, time to get up, if you please. Tally- 
ho coach for Leicester ’ll be round in half-an- 
hour, and don’t wait for nobody.” So spake 
the Boots of the Peacock Inn, Islington, at half-past two 
o’clock on the morning of a day in the early part of 
November, 183-, giving Tom at the same time a shake 
by the shoulder, and then putting down a candle and 
carrying off his shoes to clean. 

Tom and his father had arrived in town from Berk- 
shire the day before, and finding, on inquiry, that the 
Birmingham coaches which ran from the city did not pass 
through Rugby, but deposited their passengers at Dun- 
church, a village three miles distant on the main road — , 
where said passengers had to wait for the Oxford and 
Leicester coach in the evening, or to take a post-chaise 
— had resolved that Tom should travel down by the 
Tally-ho, which diverged from the main road and passed 
through Rugby itself. And as the Tally-ho was an 
early coach, they had driven out to the Peacock to be 
on the road. 


91 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

Tom had never been in London, and would have 
liked to have stopped at the Belle Sauvage, where they 
had been put down by the Star, just at dusk, that he 
might have gone roving about those endless, mysterious, 
gas-lit streets, which, with their glare and hum and mov- 
ing crowds, excited him so that he couldn’t talk even. 
But as soon as he found that the Peacock arrangement 
would get him to Rugby by twelve o’clock in the day, 
whereas otherwise he wouldn’t be there till the evening, all 
other plans melted away ; his one absorbing aim being to 
become a public schoolboy as fast as possible, and six 
hours sooner or later seeming to him of the most alarm- 
ing importance. 

Tom and his father had alighted at the Peacock at 
about seven in the evening, and having heard with un- 
feigned joy the paternal order at the bar, of steaks and 
oyster sauce for supper in half an hour, and seen his 
father seated cozily by the bright fire in the coffee-room 
with the paper in his hand — Tom had run out to see 
about him, had wondered at all the vehicles passing and 
repassing, and had fraternized with the boots and hostler, 
from whom he ascertained that the Tally-ho was a tip- 
top goer, ten miles an hour including stoppages and so 
punctual that all the road set their clocks by her. 

Then being summoned to supper he had regaled him- 
self in one of the bright little boxes of the Peacock coffee- 
room on the beefsteak and unlimited oyster sauce and 
brown stout (tasted then for the first time — a day to be 
marked forever by Tqm with a white stone) ; had at first 
92 


The Stage Coach 

attended to the excellent advice which his father was be- 
stowing on him from over his glass of steaming brandy 
and water, and then begun nodding from the united ef- 
fects of the stout, the fire, and the lecture. Till the 
Squire observing Tom’s state, and remembering that it 
was nearly nine o’clock, and that the Tally-ho left at 
three, sent the little fellow off to the chambermaid, with 
a shake of the hand (Tom having stipulated in the morn- 
ing before starting that kissing should now cease between 
them) and a few parting words. 

‘‘And now, Tom, my boy,” said the Squire, “re- 
member you are going, at your own earnest request, to 
be chucked into this great school, like a young bear with 
all your troubles before you — earlier than we should have 
sent you perhaps. If schools are what they were in my 
time, you’ll see a great many cruel blackguard things 
done, and hear a deal of foul bad talk. But never fear. 
You tell the truth, keep a brave and kind heart, and 
never listen to or say anything you wouldn’t have your 
mother and sister hear, and you’ll never feel ashamed to 
come home, or we to see you.” 

The allusion to his mother made Tom feel rather 
choky, and he would have liked to have hugged his 
father well, if it hadn’t been for the recent stipulation. 

As it was, he only squeezed his father’s hand, and 
looked bravely up and said, “ I’ll try, father.” 

“ I know you will, my boy. Is your money all safe ? ” 

“Yes,” said Tom, diving into one pocket to make 


sure. 


93 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

“And your keys?” said the Squire. 

“All right,” said Tom, diving into the other pocket. 

“Well then, good-night. God bless you! I’ll tell 
Boots to call you, and be up to see you off.” 

Tom was carried off by the chambermaid in a brown 
study, from which he was roused in a clean little attic by 
that buxon person calling him a little darling, and kissing 
him as she left the room, which indignity he was too 
much surprised to resent. And still thinking of his 
father’s last words, and the look with which they were 
spoken, he knelt down and prayed, that, come what 
might, he might never bring shame or sorrow on the 
dear folk at home. 

Indeed, the Squire’s last words deserved to have their 
effect, for they had been the result of much anxious 
thought. All the way up to London he had pondered 
what he should say to Tom by way of parting advice, 
something that the boy could keep in his head ready for 
use. By way of assisting meditation, he had even gone 
the length of taking out his flint and steel and tinder, 
and hammering away for a quarter of an hour till he had 
manufactured a light for a long Trichinopoli cheroot, 
which he silently puffed; to the no small wonder of 
Coachee, who was an old friend, and an institution on 
the Bath road; and who always expected a talk on the 
prospects and doings, agricultural and social, of the whole 
county when he carried the Squire. 

To condense the Squire’s meditation, it was some- 
what as follows : “ I won’t tell him to read his Bible and 
94 


The Stage Coach 

love and serve God ; if he don’t do that for his mother’s 
sake and teaching, he won’t for mine. Shall I go into 
the sort of temptations he’ll meet with? No, I can’t do 
that. Never do for an old fellow to go into such things 
with a boy. He won’t understand me. Do him more 
harm than good, ten to one. Shall I tell him to mind 
his work, and say he’s sent to school to make himself a 
good scholar? Well, but he isn’t sent to school for that 
— at any rate, nor for that mainly. I don’t care a straw 
for Greek particles, or the digamma, no more does his 
mother. What is he sent to school for? Well, partly 
because he wanted so to go. If he’ll only turn out a 
brave, helpful truth-telling Englishman, and a gentleman, 
and a Christian, that’s all I want,” thought the Squire; 
and upon this view of the case framed his last words of 
advice to Tom, which were well enough suited to his 
purpose. 

For they were Tom’s first thoughts as he tumbled 
out of bed at the summons of Boots, and proceeded 
rapidly to wash and dress himself. At ten minutes to 
three he was down in the coffee-room in his stockings, 
carrying his hatbox, coat, and comforter in his hand ; and 
there he found his father nursing a bright fire and a cup 
of hot coffee and a hard biscuit on the table. 

“Now then, Tom, give us your things here, and 
drink this ; there’s nothing like starting warm, old fel- 
low.” 

Tom addressed himself to the coffee, and prattled 
away while he worked himself into his shoes and his 
95 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

great-coat, well warmed through ; a Petersham coat with 
velvet collar, made tight, after the abominable fashion of 
those days. And just as he is swallowing his last mouth- 
ful, winding his comforter round his throat, and tucking 
the ends into the breast of his coat, the horn sounds. 
Boots looks in and says, “Tally-ho, sir”; and they hear 
the ring and the rattle of the four fast trotters and the 
town-made drag, as it dashes up to the Peacock. 

“ Anything for us. Bob ? ” says the burly guard, drop- 
ping down from behind, and slapping himself across the 
chest. 

“ Young genl’m’n, Rugby; three parcels, Leicester; 
hamper o' game, Rugby,” answers hostler. 

“Tell young gent to look alive,” says guard, opening 
the hind-boot and shooting in the parcels after examin- 
ing them by the lamps. “ Here, shove the portmanteau 
up a-top — ril fasten him presently. Now then, sir, jump 
up behind.” 

“ Good-by, father — my love at home.” A last shake 
of the hand. Up goes Tom, the guard catching his hat- 
box and holding on with one hand, while with the other 
he claps the horn to his mouth. Toot, toot, toot! the 
hostlers let go their heads, the four bays plunge at the 
collar, and away goes the Tally-ho into the darkness, 
forty-five seconds from the time they pulled up ; Hostler, 
Boots and the Squire stand looking after them under the 
Peacock lamp. 

“ Sharp work 1 ” says the Squire, and goes in again 
to his bed, the coach being well out of sight and hearing. 

96 


The Stage Coach 

Tom stands up on the coach and looks back at his 
father’s figure as long as he can see it, and then the guard, 
having disposed of his luggage, comes to an anchor, and 
finishes his buttonings and other preparations for facing 
the three hours before dawn ; no joke for those who 
minded cold, on a fast coach in November, in the reign 
of his late majesty. 

I sometimes think that you boys of this generation 
are a deal tenderer fellows than we used to be. At any 
rate, you’re much more comfortable travellers, for I see 
every one of you with his rug or plaid, and other dodges 
for preserving the caloric, and most of you going in those 
fuzzy, dusty, padded first-class carriages. It was another 
affair altogether, a dark ride on the top of the Tally-ho, 
I can tell you, in a tight Petersham coat, your feet dang- 
ling six inches from the floor. Then you knew what cold 
was, and what it was to be without legs, for not a bit of 
feeling had you in them after the first half-hour. But it 
had its pleasures, the old dark ride. First there was the 
consciousness of silent endurance, so dear to every 
Englishman — of standing out against something, and not 
giving in. Then there was the music of the rattling 
harness, and the ring of the horses’ feet on the hard road, 
and the glare of the two bright lamps through the steam- 
ing hoar-frost, over the leaders’ ears, into the darkness ; 
and the cheery toot of the guard’s horn, to warn some 
drowsy pikeman or the hostler at the next change ; and 
the looking forward to daylight — and last, but not least, 
the delight of returning sensation in your toes. 

97 


Vol. i6— D 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

Then the break of dawn and the sunrise ; where can 
they be ever seen in perfection but from a coach roof? 
You want motion and change and music to see them in 
their glory ; not the music of singing-men and singing- 
women, but good silent music, which sets itself in your 
own head the accompaniment of work and getting over 
the ground. 

The Tally-ho is past St. Alban’s, and Tom is enjoy- 
ing the ride, though half frozen. The guard, who is 
alone with him on the back of the coach, is silent, but has 
muffled Tom’s feet up in straw, and put the end of an 
oat sack over his knees. The darkness has driven him 
inwards, and he has gone over his little past life, and 
thought of all his doings and promises, and of his mother 
and sister, and his father’s last words ; and has made fifty 
good resolutions and means to bear himself like a brave 
Brown as he is, though a young one. 

Then he has been forward into the mysterious boy- 
future, speculating as to what sort of a place Rugby is, 
and what they do there, and calling up all the stories of 
public schools which he has heard from big boys in the 
holidays. He is chock-full of hope and life, notwith- 
standing the cold, and kicks his heels against the back- 
board and would like to sing, only he doesn’t know how 
his friend the silent guard might take it. 

And now the dawn breaks at the end of the fourth 
stage and the coach pulls up at a little roadside inn with 
huge stables behind. There is a bright fire gleaming 
through the red curtains of the bar window, and the door 
98 


The Stage Coach 

is open. The coachman catches his whip into a double 
thong, and throws it to the hostler; the steam of the horses 
rises straight up into the air. He has put them along 
over the last two miles and is two minutes before his 
time; he rolls down from the box and into the inn. 
The guard rolls off behind. ‘‘Now, sir,’' says he to 
Tom, “you just jump down, and I’ll give you a drop 
of something to keep the cold out.” 

Tom finds a difficulty in jumping or indeed in find- 
ing the top of the wheel with his feet, which may be in 
the next world for all he feels ; so the guard picks him 
off the coach top and sets him on his legs, and they stump 
off into the bar and join the coachman and the other out- 
side passengers. 

Here a fresh-looking barmaid serves them each with 
a glass of early purl as they stand before the fire, coach- 
man and guard exchanging business remarks. The purl 
warms the cockles of Tom’s heart and makes him cough. 

“ Rare tackle, that, sir, of a cold morning,” says the 
coachman, smiling. “ Time’s up.” They are out again 
and up; coachee the last, gathering the reins into his 
hands and talking to Jem the hostler about the mare’s 
shoulder, and then swinging himself up on to the box — 
the horses dashing off in a canter before he falls into his 
seat. Toot-toot-tootle-too goes the horn,*and away they 
are again, five and thirty miles on their road (nearly half 
way to Rugby, thinks Tom), and the prospect of break- 
fast at the end of the stage. 

And now they begin to see, and the early life of the 
99 


L.ofC. 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

country-side comes out ; a market cart or two, men in 
smock-frocks going to their work pipe in mouth, a whiff 
of which is no bad smell this bright morning. The sun 
gets up and the mist shines like silver gauze. They pass 
the hounds jogging along to a distant meet, at the heels 
of the huntsman's hack, whose face is about the color of 
the tails of his old pink, as he exchanges greetings with 
coachman and guard. Now they pull up at a lodge and 
take on board a well muffled up sportsman, with his gun 
case and carpet bag. An early up-coach meets them, and 
the coachmen gather up their horses and pass one another 
with the accustomed lift of the elbow, each team doing 
eleven miles an hour, with a mile to spare behind if 
necessary. And here comes breakfast. 

“ Twenty minutes here, gentlemen," says the coach- 
man as they pull up at half-past seven at the inn door. 

Have we not endured nobly this morning, and is not 
this a worthy reward for much endurance? There is the 
low dark wainscoted room hung with sporting prints ; the 
hat-stand (with a whip or two standing up in it belonging 
to bagmen who are still snug in bed) by the door ; the 
blazing fire, with the quaint old glass over the mantel-piece, 
in which is stuck a large card with the lists of the meets 
for the week of the county hounds. The table covered 
with the whitest of cloths and of china, and bearing 
a pigeon pie, ham, round of cold boiled beef cut from a 
mammoth ox, and the great loaf of household bread on 
a wooden trencher. And here comes in the stout head 
waiter, puffing under a tray of hot viands ; kidneys and 
100 


The Stage Coach 

Steak, transparent rashers and poached eggs, buttered toast 
and muffins, coffee and tea, all smoking hot. The table 
can never hold it all ; the cold meats are removed to the 
sideboard, they were only put on for show and to give us 
an appetite. And now fall on, gentlemen all. It is a well- 
known sporting house, and the breakfasts are famous. 
Two or three men in pink, on their way to the meet, 
drop in, and are very jovial and sharp-set, as indeed we 
all are. 

“Tea or coffee, sir?’' says head waiter, coming round 
to Tom. 

“ Coffee, please,” says Tom, with his mouth full of 
muffin and kidney ; coffee is a treat to him, tea is not. ‘ 

Our coachman, I perceive, who breakfasts with us, is a 
cold-beef man. He also eschews hot potations, and addicts 
himself to a tankard of ale, which is brought him by the 
barmaid. Sportsman looks on approvingly, and orders a 
ditto for himself. 

Tom has eaten kidney and pigeon-pie, and imbibed 
coffee, till his little skin is as tight as a drum ; and then 
has the further pleasure of paying head waiter out of his 
own purse, in a dignified manner, and walks out before the 
inn door to see the horses put to. This is done leisurely 
and in a highly finished manner by the hostlers, as if they 
enjoyed the not being hurried. Coachman comes out 
with his way-bill, and puffing a fat cigar which the sports- 
man has given him. Guard emerges from the tap, where 
he prefers breakfasting, licking round a tough-looking 
doubtful cheroot, which you might tie round your finger, 
lOI 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

and three whifFs of which would knock any one else out 
of time. 

The pinks stand about the inn door lighting cigars 
and waiting to see us start, while their hacks are led up and 
down the market-place on which the inn looks. They 
all know our sportsman, and we feel a reflected credit 
when we see him chatting and laughing with them. 

“ Now, sir, please,*' says the coachman ; all the rest of 
the passengers are up ; the guard is locking the hind boot. 

“ A good run to you ! " says the sportsman to the 
pinks, and is by the coachman's side in no time. 

“ Let 'em go, Dick ! " The hostlers fly back, draw- 
ing off the cloths from their glossy loins, and away we go 
through the market-place and down the High Street, 
looking in at the first-floor windows, and seeing several 
worthy burgesses shaving thereat ; while all the shop-boys 
who are cleaning the windows and housemaids who are 
doing the steps, stop and look pleased as we rattle past, as 
if we were a part of their legitimate morning's amuse- 
ment. We clear the town, and are well out between the 
hedgerows again as the town clock strikes eight. 

The sun shines almost warmly, and breakfast has oiled 
all springs and loosened all tongues. Tom is encouraged 
by a remark or two of the guard’s between the puffs of his 
oily cheroot, and besides is getting tired of not talking ; he 
is too full of his destination to talk about anything else ; and 
so asks the guard if he knows Rugby. 

“ Goes through it every day of my life. Twenty min- 
utes afore twelve down — ten o’clock up.” 

102 


The Stage Coach 

“ What sort of a place is it, please ? ” says Tom. 

Guard looks at him with a comical expression. 
‘‘ Werry out-o’-the-way place, sir ; no paving to the streets 
nor no lighting. ’Mazin’ big horse and cattle fair in au- 
tumn — lasts a week — just over now. Takes town a week 
to get clean after it. Fairish hunting country. But slow 
place sir, slow place: off the main road, you see — only 
three coaches a day, and one on ’em a two-oss wan, more 
like a hearse nor a coach — Regulator — comes from Ox- 
ford. Young genl’m’n at school calls her Pig and Whistle, 
and goes up to college by her (six miles an hour) when 
they goes to enter. Belong to school, sir ? ” 

“Yes,” says Tom, not unwilling for a moment that 
the guard should think him an old boy. But then hav- 
ing some qualms as to the truth of the assertion, and see- 
ing that if he were to assume the character of an old boy he 
couldn’t go on asking the questions he wanted, added — 
“ that is to say. I’m on my way there. I’m a new boy.” 

The guard looked as if he knew this quite as well as 
Tom. 

“You’re werry late, sir,” says the guard; “only six 
weeks to-day to the end of the half.” Tom assented. 
“ We takes up fine loads this day six weeks, and Monday 
and Tuesday arter. Hopes we shall have the pleasure of 
carrying you back.” 

Tom said he hoped they would; but he thought 
within himself that his fate would probably be the Pig 
and Whistle. 

“ It pays uncommon, cert’nly,” continues the guard. 

103 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

Werry free with their cash is the young genl'm^n. But, 
Lor’ bless you, we gets into such rows all ’long the road, 
what wi’ their pea-shooters, and long whips, and hollering, 
and upsetting every one as comes by ; I’d a sight sooner 
carry one or two on ’em, sir, as I may be a carryin’ of you 
now, than a coach-load.” 

“ What do they do with the pea-shooters ? ” inquires 
Tom. 

“ Do wi’ ’em ! why, peppers every one’s faces as we 
comes near, ’cept the young gals, and breaks windows wi’ 
them too, some on ’em shoots so hard. Now’ ’twa just 
here last June, as we was a driving up the first day boys, 
they was mendin’ a quarter-mile of road, and there was a 
lot of Irish chaps, reg’lar roughs, a breaking stones. As 
we comes up, ‘ Now, boys,’ says young gent on the box 
(smart young fellow and desper’t reckless), ‘ here’s fun ! 
Let the Pats have it about the ears.’ ‘ God’s sake, sir !’ 
says Bob (that’s my mate the coachman), ‘ don’t go for to 
shoot at ’em, they’ll knock us off the coach.’ ‘ Damme, 
coachee,’ says young my lord, ‘ you ain’t afraid ; hoora, 
boys ! let ’em have it.’ ‘ Hoora! ’ sings out the others, 
and fill their mouths chock full of peas to last the whole 
line. Bob seeing as ’twas to come, knocks his hat over 
his eyes, hollers to his ’osses, and shakes ’em up, and away 
we goes up to the line on em, twenty miles an hour. The 
Pats begin to hoora, too, thinking it was a runaway, and 
first lot on ’em stands grinnin’ and wavin’ their old hats 
as we comes abreast on ’em ; and then you’d ha’ laughed 
to see how took aback and choking savage they looked 
104 


The Stage Coach 

when they gets the peas a stinging all over ’em. But 
bless you, the laugh weren’t all of our side, sir, by a long 
way. We was going so fast, and they was so took aback, 
that they didn’t take what was up till we was half-way up 
the line. Then ’twas ‘ look out all,’ surely. They howls 
all down the line fit to frighten you, some on ’em runs 
arter us and tries to clamber up behind, only we hits ’em 
over the fingers and pulls their hands off, one as had had 
it very sharp act’ly runs right at the leaders, as though he’d 
ketch ’em by the heads, only luck’ly for him he misses 
his tip, and comes over a heap o’ stones, first. The rest 
picks up stones, and gives it us right away till we gets 
out o’ shot, the young gents holding out werry manful with 
the pea-shooters and such stones as lodged on us, and a 
pretty many there was too. Then Bob picks hisself up 
again, and looks at young gent on box werry solemn. 
Bob’d had a rum un in the ribs, which’d like to ha’ knocked 
him off the box, or made him drop the reins. Young 
gent on box picks hisself up, and so does we all, and looks 
round to count damage. Bob’s head cut open and his hat 
gone ; ’nother young gent’s hat gone ; mine knocked in at 
the side, and not one on us as wasn’t black and blue some- 
wheres or another ; most on ’em all over. Two-pound-ten 
to pay for damage to paint, which they subscribed for there 
and then, and give Bob and me an extra half-sovereign 
each ; but I wouldn’t go down that line again not for 
twenty half-sovereigns.” And the guard shook his head 
slowly, and got up and blew a clear brisk toot-toot. 

“ What fun ! ” said Tom, who could scarcely contain 
105 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

his pride at this exploit of his future schoolfellows. He 
longed already for the end of the half, that he might join 
them. 

“Taint such good fun though, sir, for the folk as 
meets the coach, nor for we who has to go back with it 
next day. Them Irishers last summer had all got stones 
ready for us, and was all but letting drive, and we’d got 
two reverend gents aboard too. We pulled up at the 
beginning of the line, and pacified them, and were never 
going to carry no more pea-shooters, unless they prom- 
ises not to fire where there’s a line of Irish chaps a stone- 
breaking.” The guard stopped and pulled away at his 
cheroot, regarding Tom benignantly the while. 

“ Oh, don t stop ! tell us something more about the 
pea-shooting.” 

“ Well, there’d like to have been a pretty piece of work 
over it at Bicester a while back. We was six mile from the 
town, when we meets an old square-headed, grey-haired 
yoeman chap, a jogging along quite quiet. He looks up 
at the coach, and just then a pea hits him on the nose, and 
some ketches his cob behind and makes him dance up on 
his hind legs. I see’d the old boy’s face flush and look 
plaguy awkward, and I thought we was in for somethin’ 
nasty. 

“ He turns his cob’s head, and rides quietly after us 
just out of shot. How that ere cob did step ! we never 
shook him off not a dozen yards in the six mile. At first 
the young gents was werry lively on him ; but afore we 
got in, seeing how steady the old chap come on, they 
io6 


The Stage Coach 

was quite quiet, and laid their heads together what they 
should do. Some was for fighting, some for axing his 
pardon. He rides into the town close after us, comes up 
when we stops, and says the two as shot at him must 
come before a magistrate ; and a great crowd comes round, 
and we couldn’t get the ’osses to. But the young uns, 
they all stand by one another, and says all or none must 
go, and as how they’d fight it out, and have to be carried. 
Just as ’twas gettin’ serious, and the old boy and the mob 
was goin’ to pull ’em off the coach, one little fellow jumps 
up and says, ‘Here — I’ll stay — I’m only going three 
miles further. My father’s name’s Davis ; he’s known 
about here, and I’ll go before the magistrate with this 
gentleman.’ ‘ What, be thee parson Davis’s son ? ’ says 
the old boy. ‘Yes,’ says the young un. ‘Well, I be 
mortal sorry to meet thee in such company, but for thy 
father’s sake and thine (for thee bi’st a brave young chap) 
I’ll say no more about it.’ Didn’t the boys cheer him, and 
the mob cheered the young chap — and then one of the big- 
gest gets down, and begs his pardon werry gentlemanly 
for all the rest, saying as they all had been plaguy vexed 
from the first, but didn’t like to ax his pardon till then, 
’cause they felt they hadn’t ought to shirk the conse- 
quences of their joke. And then they all got down and 
shook hands with the old boy, and asked him to all parts 
of the country, to their homes ; and we drives off twenty 
minutes behind time, with cheering and hollering as if we 
was county members. But Lor’ bless you, sir,” says the 
guard, smacking his hand down on his knee and looking 
107 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

full into Tom’s face, ‘‘ten minutes arter they was all as 
bad as ever.” 

Tom showed such undisguised and open-mouthed in- 
terest in his narrations, that the old guard rubbed up his 
memory, and launched out into a graphic history of all 
the performances of the boys on the road for the last 
twenty years. Off the road he couldn’t go ; the exploit 
must have been connected with horses or vehicles to hang 
in the old fellow’s head. Tom tried him off his own 
ground once or twice, but found he knew nothing beyond, 
and so let him have his head, and the rest of the road 
bowled easily away ; for old Blow-hard (as the boys called 
him) was a dry old file, with much kindness and humor, 
and a capital spinner of a yarn when he had broken the 
neck of his day’s work and got plenty of ale under his 
belt. 

What struck Tom’s youthful imagination most was 
the desperate and lawless character of the most of the 
stories. Was the guard hoaxing him ? He couldn’t help 
hoping that they were true. It’s very odd how almost 
all English boys love danger ; you can get ten to join a 
game, or climb a tree, or swim a stream, when there’s a 
chance of breaking their limbs or getting drowned, for 
one who’ll stay on level ground, or in his depth, or play 
quoits or bowls. 

The guard had just finished an account of a desperate 
fight which had happened at one of the fairs between the 
drovers and the farmers with their whips, and the boys 
with cricket-bats and wickets, which arose out of a play- 
loS 


The Stage Coach 

ful but objectionable practice of the boys going round to 
the public-houses and taking the linchpins out of the 
wheels of the gigs, and was moralizing upon the way in 
which the Doctor, “ a terrible stern man he’d heard tell,” 
had come down upon several of the performers, “send- 
ing three on ’em off next morning, each in a po-chay 
with a parish constable,” when they turned a corner and 
neared the milestone, the third from Rugby. By the 
stone two boys stood, their jackets buttoned tight, wait- 
ing for the coach. ^ 

“ Look here, sir,” says the guard, after giving a sharp 
toot-toot, “ there’s two on ’em ; out and out runners they 
be. They come out about twice or three times a week, 
and spirts a mile alongside of us.” 

And as they came up, sure enough, away went the two 
boys along the footpath, keeping up with the horses ; the 
first a light, clean-made fellow going on springs, the other 
stout and round-shouldered, laboring in his pace, but 
going as dogged as a bull-terrier. 

Old Blow-hard looked on admiringly. “ See how 
beautiful that there un holds hisself together, and goes 
from his hips, sir,” said he ; “ he’s a ’mazin’ fine runner. 
Now, many coachmen as drives a first-rate team’d put it 
on and try and pass ’em. But Bob, sir, bless you, he’s 
tender-hearted ; he’d sooner pull in a bit if he see’d ’em 
a gettin’ beat. I do b’lieve too as that there un’d sooner 
break his heart than let us go by him afore next mile- 
stone.” 

At the second milestone the boys pulled up short and 
109 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

waved their hats to the guard, who had his watch out and 
shouted ‘^4.56,’' thereby indicating that the mile had 
been done in four seconds under the five minutes. They 
passed several more parties of boys, all of them objects 
of the deepest interest to Tom, and came in sight of the 
town at ten minutes before twelve. Tom fetched a long 
breath, and thought he had never spent a pleasanter day. 
Before he went to bed he had quite settled that it must 
be the greatest day he should ever spend, and didn’t alter 
his opinion for many a long year — if he has yet. 


no 


CHAPTER V 


RUGBY AND FOOTBALL 


“ Foot and eye opposed 

In dubious strife.” — S cott. 



ND SO here*s Rugby, sir, at last, and you’ll be in 


plenty of time for dinner at the School-house, 


^ ^ as I tell’d you,” said the old guard, pulling his 
horn out of its case, and tootle-tooing away ; while the 
coachman shook up his horses, and carried them along 
the side of the school close, round Dead-man’s Corner, 
past the school-gates and down the High Street to the 
Spread Eagle ; the wheelers in a spanking trot and leaders 
cantering, in a style which would not have disgraced 
“ Cherry Bob,” ramping, stamping, tearing, swearing 
Billy Harwood,” or any other of the old coaching heroes. 

Tom’s heart beat quick as he passed the great school 
field or close, with its noble elms, in which several games 
at football were going on, and tried to take in at once the 
long line of gray buildings, beginning with the chapel, 
and ending with the School-house, the residence of the 
head-master, where the great flag was lazily waving from 
the highest round tower. And he began already to be 
proud of being a Rugby boy, as he passed the school- 
gates, with the oriel window above, and saw the boys 


1 1 1 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

Standing there, looking as if the town belonged to them, 
and nodding in a familiar manner to the coachman, as if 
any one of them would be quite equal to getting on the 
box and working the team down street as well as he. 

One of the young heroes, however, ran out from the 
rest and scrambled up behind ; where, having righted 
himself and nodded to the guard with “ How do, Jem?” 
he turned short round to Tom, and, after looking him 
over for a minute, began — 

‘‘ I say, you fellow, is your name Brown ? ” 

‘‘Yes,” said Tom, in considerable astonishment; glad 
however to have lighted on some one already who seemed 
to know him. 

“ Ah, I thought so ; you know my old aunt. Miss 
East ; she lives somewhere down your way in Berkshire. 
She wrote to me that you were coming to-day, and asked 
me to give you a lift.” 

Tom was somewhat inclined to resent the patronizing 
air of his new friend — a boy of just about his own height 
and age, but gifted with the most transcendent coolness 
and assurance, which Tom felt to be aggravating and hard 
to bear, but couldn't for the life of him help admiring 
and envying — especially when young my lord begins 
hectoring two or three long loafing fellows, half porter, 
half stableman, with a strong touch of the blackguard, 
and in the end arranges with one of them, nicknamed 
Cooey, to carry Tom’s luggage up to the School-house 
for sixpence. 

“ And heark’ee, Cooey, it must be up in ten minutes 

I 12 


Rugby and Football 

or no more jobs from me. Come along, Brown.'* And 
away swaggers the young potentate, with his hands in his 
pockets, and Tom at his side. 

‘‘ All right, sir,” says Cooey, touching his hat, with a 
leer and a wink at his companions. 

“ Hullo though,” says East, pulling up, and taking 
another look at Tom, ‘‘this'll never do — haven't you got 
a hat? — we never wear caps here. Only the louts wear 
caps. Bless you, if you were to go into the quadrangle 

with that thing on, I don't know what'd happen.” 

The very idea was quite beyond young Master East, and 
he looked unutterable things. 

Tom thought his cap a very knowing affair, but con- 
fessed that he had a hat in his hat-box; which was 
accordingly at once extracted from the hind-boot, and 
Tom equipped in his go-to-meeting roof, as his new friend 
called it. But this didn’t quite suit his fastidious taste 
in another minute, being too shiny ; so, as they walk up 
the town, they dive into Nixon’s the hatter’s, and Tom 
is arrayed, to his utter astonishment, and without paying 
for it, in a regulation cat-skin at seven-and-sixpence ; 
Nixon undertaking to send the best hat up to the ma- 
tron’s room. School-house, in half an hour. 

“You can send in a note for a tile on Monday, and 
make it all right, you know,” said Mentor; “we're al- 
lowed two seven-and-sixers a half, besides what we bring 
from home.” 

Tom by this time began to be conscious of his new 
social position and dignities, and to luxuriate in the 

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Tom Brown’s School Days 

realized ambition of being a public-school boy at last, 
with a vested right of spoiling two seven-and-sixers in 
half a year. 

“You see,” said his friend, as they strolled up toward 
the school gates, in explanation of his conduct — “ a great 
deal depends on how a fellow cuts up at first. If he's 
got nothing odd about him, and answers straightforward 
and holds his head up, he get's on. Now, you'll do very 
well as to rig, all but that cap. You see I'm doing the 
handsome thing by you, because my father knows yours ; 
besides, I want to please the old lady. She gave me a 
half-a-sov this half, and perhaps'll double it next, if I 
keep in her good books.'' 

There's nothing for candor like a lower-school boy; 
and East was a genuine specimen — frank, hearty, and 
good-natured, well satisfied with himself and his position 
and chock-full of life and spirits, and all the Rugby 
prejudices and traditions which he had been able to get 
together, in the long course of one half year, during which 
he had been at the School-house. 

And Tom, notwithstanding his bumptiousness, felt 
friends with him at once, and began sucking in all his 
ways and prejudices, as fast as he could understand them. 

East was great in the character of cicerone ; he carried 
Tom through the great gates, where were only two or 
three boys. These satisfied themselves with the stock 
questions — “You fellow, what's your name? Where 
do you come from ? How old are you ? Where do you 
board ? and. What form are you in ? '' — and so they 
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Rugby and Football 

passed on through the quadrangle and a small courtyard, 
upon which looked down a lot of little windows (belong- 
ing, as his guide informed him, to some of the School- 
house studies), into the matron’s room, where East intro- 
duced Tom to that dignitary ; made him give up the key 
of his trunk that the matron might unpack his linen, and 
told the story of the hat and of his own presence of 
mind : upon the relation whereof the matron laughingly 
scolded him, for the coolest new boy in the house ; and 
East, indignant at the accusation of newness, marched 
Tom off into the quadrangle, and began showing him the 
schools, and examining him as to his literary attainments ; 
the result of which was a prophecy that they would be 
in the same form and could do their lessons together. 

And now come in and see my study ; we shall have 
just time before dinner; and afterwards, before calling 
over, we’ll do the close.” 

Tom followed his guide through the School-house 
hall, which opens into the quadrangle. It is a great 
room thirty feet long and eighteen high, or thereabouts, 
with two great tables running the whole length, and two 
large fireplaces at the side, with blazing fires in them, at 
one of which some dozen boys were standing and loung- 
ing, some of whom shouted to East to stop ; but he shot 
through with his convoy, and landed him in the long 
dark passages, with a large fire at the end of each upon 
which the studies opened. Into one of these, in the bot- 
tom passage. East bolted with our hero, slamming and 
bolting the door behind them, in case of pursuit from 

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Tom Brown’s School Days 

the hall, and Tom was for the first time in a Rugby boy’s 
citadel. 

He hadn’t been prepared for separate studies, and was 
not a little astonished and delighted with the palace in 
question. 

It wasn’t very large certainly, being about six feet 
long by four broad. It couldn’t be called light, as there 
were bars and a grating to the window ; which little pre- 
cautions were necessary in the studies on the ground 
floor looking out into the close, to prevent the exit of 
small boys after locking-up, and the entrance of contra- 
band articles. But it was uncommonly comfortable to 
look at, Tom thought. The space under the window at 
the further end was occupied by a square table covered 
with a reasonably clean and whole red and blue check 
tablecloth ; a hard-seated sofa covered with red stuff 
occupied one side, running up to the end, and making a 
seat for one, or, by sitting close, for two, at the table ; 
and a good stout wooden chair afforded a seat to another 
boy, so that three could sit and work together. The 
walls were wainscoted half-way up, the wainscot being 
covered with green baize, the rernainder with a bright- 
patterned paper, on which hung three or four prints, of 
dogs’ heads, Grimaldi winning the Aylesbury steeple- 
chase, Amy Robsart, the reigning Waverley beauty of 
the day,*and Tom Crib in a posture of defence, which 
did no credit to the science of that hero, if truly repre- 
sented. Over the door were a row of hat-pegs, and on 
each side bookcases with cupboards at the bottom ; 

1 16 


Rugby and Football 

shelves and cupboards being filled indiscriminately with 
school-books, a cup or two, a mousetrap, and brass 
candlesticks, leather straps, a fustian bag, and some 
curious-looking articles, which puzzled Tom not a little, 
until his friend explained that they were climbing irons, 
and showed their use. A cricket-bat and small fishing- 
rod stood up in one corner. 

This was the residence of East and another boy in the 
same form, and had more interest for Tom than Windsor 
Castle, or any other residence in the British Isles. For 
was he not about to become the joint owner of a similar 
home, the first place which he could call his own ? One’s 
own ! What a charm there is in the words ! How long 
it takes boy and man to find out their worth ! how fast 
most of us hold on to them ! faster and more jealously 
the nearer we are to that general home into which we can 
take nothing, but must go naked as we came into the 
world. When shall we learn that he who multiplieth 
possessions multiplieth troubles, and that the one single 
use of things which we call our own is that they may be 
his who hath need of them ? 

‘‘ And shall I have a study like this too ? ” said Tom. 

Yes, of course, you’ll be chummed with some fellow 
on Monday, and you can sit here till then.” 

‘‘ What nice places ! ” 

They’re well enough,” answered East patronizingly, 
‘‘only uncommon cold at nights sometimes. Gower — 
that’s my chum — and I make a fire with paper on the floor 
after supper generally, only that makes it so smoky.” 

II/ 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

But there’s a big fire out in the passage,” said 

Tom. 

“ Precious little good we get out of that though,” said 
East; “Jones the praepostor has the study at the fire 
end, and he has rigged up an iron rod and green baize 
curtain across the passage, which he draws at night, and 
sits there with his door open, so he gets all the fire, and 
hears if we come out of our studies after eight, or make 
a noise. However, he’s taken to sitting in the fifth-form 
room lately, so we do get a bit of fire now sometimes; only 
to keep a sharp look-out that he don’t catch you behind 
his curtain when he comes down — that’s all.” 

A quarter-past one now struck, and the bell began 
tolling for dinner, so they went into the hall and took 
their places, Tom at the very bottom of the second 
table, next to the praepostor (who sat at the end to keep 
order there), and East a few paces higher. And now 
Tom for the first time saw his future schoolfellows in a 
body. In they came, some hot and ruddy from football 
or long walks, some pale and chilly from hard reading in 
their studies, some from loitering over the fire at the 
pastrycook’s, dainty mortals, bringing with them pickles 
and sauce-bottles to help them with their dinners. And 
a great big-bearded man, whom Tom took for a master, 
began calling over the names, while the great joints were 
being rapidly carved on a third table in the corner by the 
old verger and the housekeeper. Tom’s turn came last, 
and meanwhile he was all eyes, looking first with awe at 
the great man who sat close to him, and was helped first, 

ii8 


Rugby and Football 

ahd who read a hard-looking book all the time he was 
eating ; and when he got up and walked off to the fire, at 
the small boys round him, some of whom were reading, 
and the rest talking in whispers to one another, or steal- 
ing one another’s bread, or shooting pellets, or digging 
their forks through the tablecloth. However, notwith- 
standing his curiosity, he managed to make a capital din- 
ner by the time the big man called ‘‘ Stand up ! ” and said 
grace. 

As soon as dinner was over, and Tom had been ques- 
tioned by such of his neighbors as were curious as to his 
birth, parentage, education, and other like matters. East, 
who evidently enjoyed his new dignity of patron and 
mentor, proposed having a look at the close, which Tom, 
athirst for knowledge, gladly assented to, and they went 
out through the quadrangle and past the big fives’-court, 
into the great playground. 

“ That’s the chapel, you see,” said East, ‘‘ and there 
just behind it is the place for fights ; you see it’s most 
out of the way of the masters, who all live on the other side 
and don’t come by here after first lesson or callings-over. 
That’s when the fights come off. And all this part where 
we are is the little side-ground, right up to the trees, 
and on the other side of the trees is the big side-ground, 
where the great matches are played. And there’s the 
island in the furthest corner; you’ll know that well 
enough next half, when there’s island fagging. I say, 
it’s horrid cold, let’s have a run across,” and away went 
East, Tom close behind him. East was evidently put- 
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Tom Brown’s School Days 

ting his best foot foremost, and Tom, who was mighty 
proud of his running, and not a little anxious to show his 
friend that although a new boy he was no milksop, laid 
himself down to the work in his very best style. Right 
across the close they went, each doing all he knew, and 
there wasn't a yard between them when they pulled up at 
the island moat. 

“ I say,” said East, as soon as he got his wind, look- 
ing with much increased respect at Tom, “ you ain't a bad 
scud, not by no means. Well, I'm as warm as a toast 
now.” 

‘‘ But why do you wear white trousers in November ? ” 
said Tom. He had been struck by this peculiarity in the 
costume of almost all the School-house boys. 

‘‘Why, bless us, don't you know? — No, I forgot. 
Why, to-day's the School-house match. Our house 
plays the whole of the School at football. And we all 
wear white trousers to show 'em we don't care for hacks. 
You're in luck to come to-day. You just will see a 
match ; and Brooke's going to let me play in quarters. 
That's more than he'll do for any other lower-school boy, 
except James, and he's fourteen.” 

“ Who's Brooke ? ” 

“ Why that big fellow who called over at dinner, to be 
sure. He's cock of the school, and head of the School- 
house side, and the best kick and charger in Rugby.” 

“ Oh, but do show me where they play. And tell me 
about it. I love football so, and have played all my life. 
Won't Brooke let me play?” 

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Rugby and Football 

“Not he/’ said East, with some indignation; “why, 
you don’t know the rules — you’ll be a month learning 
them. And then it’s no joke playing-up in a match, I 
can tell you. Quite another thing from your private 
school games. Why, there’s been two collar bones broken 
this half, and a dozen fellows lamed. And last year a fel- 
low had his leg broke. 

Tom listened with the profoundest respect to this 
chapter of accidents, and followed East across the level 
ground till they came to a sort of gigantic gallows of two 
poles eighteen feet high, fixed upright in the ground some 
fourteen feet apart, with a cross-bar running from one to 
the other at the height of ten feet or thereabouts. 

“ This is one of the goals,” said East, “ and you see 
the other across there, right opposite, under the Doctor’s 
wall. Well, the match is for the best of three goals ; 
which ever side kicks two goals win : and it won’t do, you 
see, just to kick the ball through these posts, it must go 
over the cross-bar ; any height’ll do, so long as it’s between 
the posts. You’ll have to stay in goal to touch the 
ball when it rolls behind the posts, because if the other 
side touch it they have a try at goal. Then we fellows in 
quarters, we play just about in front of goal here, and have 
to turn the ball and kick it back before the big fellows on 
the other side can follow it up. And in front of us all 
the big fellows play, and that’s where the scrimmages are 
mostly. 

Tom’s respect increased as he struggled to make out 
his friend’s technicalities, and the other set to work to ex- 


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Tom Brown’s School Days 

plain the mysteries of your side/’ ‘Mrop-kicks/’ 

‘‘ punts,” “ places,” and the other intricacies of the great 
science of football. 

But how do you keep the ball between the goals ? ” 
said he. “ I can’t see why it mightn’t go right down to 
the chapel.” 

“Why, that’s out of play,” answered East. “You 
see this gravel walk running down all along this side of 
the playing-ground, and the line of elms opposite on the 
other? Well, they’re the bounds. As soon as the ball 
gets past them, it’s in touch, and out of play. And then 
whoever first touches it, has to knock it straight out among 
the players-up, who make two lines with a space between 
them, every fellow going on his own side. Ain’t there 
just fine scrimmages then ! and the three trees you see 
there which come out into the play, that’s a tremendous 
place when the ball hangs there, for you get thrown 
against the trees, and that’s worse than any hack. 

Tom wondered within himself as they strolled back 
again toward the fives’-court, whether the matches were 
really such break-neck affairs as East represented, and 
whether, if they were, he should ever get to like them 
and play-up well. 

He hadn’t long to wonder, however, for next minute 
East cried out, “ Hurrah ! here’s the punt-about — come 
along and try your hand at a kick.” The punt-about is 
the practice ball, which is just brought out and kicked 
about anyhow from one boy to another before calling- 
over and dinner, and at other odd times. They joined 
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Rugby and Football 

the boys who had brought it out, all small School-house 
fellows, friends of East; and Tom had the pleasure of 
trying his skill, and performed very creditably, after first 
driving his foot three inches into the ground, and then 
nearly kicking his leg into the air, in vigorous efforts to 
accomplish a drop-kick after the manner of East. 

Presently more boys and bigger came out, and boys 
from other houses on their way to calling-over, and more 
balls were sent for. The crowd thickened as three o’clock 
approached ; and when the hour struck, one hundred and 
fifty boys were hard at work. Then the balls were held, 
the master of the week came down in cap and gown to 
calling-over, and the whole school of three hundred boys 
swept into the big school to answer to their names. 

‘‘ I may come in, mayn’t I !” said Tom, catching East 
by the arm and longing to feel one of them. 

^‘Yes, come along, nobody’ll say anything. You 
won’t be so eager to get into calling-over after a month,” 
replied his friend ; and they marched into the big school 
together, and up to the further end, where that illustrious 
form, the lower fourth, which had the honor of East’s 
patronage for the time being, stood. 

The master mounted into the high desk by the door 
and one of the praepostors of the week stood by him on 
the steps, the other three marching up and down the 
middle of the school with their canes, calling out “ Si- 
lence, silence !” The sixth form stood close by the door 
on the left, some thirty in number, mostly great big 
grown men, as Tom thought, surveying them from a dis- 
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Tom Brown’s School Days 

tance with awe. The fifth form behind them, twice their 
number and not quite so big. These on the left; and 
on the right the lower fifth, shell, and all the junior 
forms in order; while up the middle marched the three 
praepostors. 

Then the praepostor who stands by the master calls 
out the names, beginning with the sixth form, and as he 
calls, each boy answers “ Here ” to his name, and walks 
out. Some of the sixth stop at the door to turn the 
whole string of boys into the close ; it is a great match 
day, and every boy in the school, will-he, nill-he, must 
be there. The rest of the sixth go forward into the 
close, to see that no one escapes by any of the side gates. 

To-day, however, being the School-house match, none 
of the School-house praepostors stay by the door to watch 
for truants of their side ; there is carte blanche to the 
School-house fags to go where they like : “ They trust 
to our honor,” as East proudly informs Tom ; they 
know very well that no School-house boy would cut the 
match. If he did, we'd very soon cut him, I can tell you.” 

The master of the week being short-sighted, and the 
praepostors of the week small and not well up to their 
work, the lower school boys employ the ten minutes 
which elapse before their names are called, in pelting one 
another vigorously with acorns, which fly about in all di- 
rections. The small praepostors dash in every now and 
then, and generally chastise some quiet, timid boy who 
is equally afraid of acorns and canes, while the principal 
performers get dexterously out of the way ; and so call- 
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Rugby and Football 

ing-over rolls on somehow, much like the big world, 
punishments lighting on wrong shoulders, and matters 
going generally in a queer, cross-grained way, but the end 
coming somehow, which is after all the great point. And 
now the master of the week has finished, and locked up 
the big school ; and the praepostors of the week come 
out, sweeping the last remnant of the school fags — who 
had been loafing about the corners by the fives’ court, in 
hopes of a chance of bolting — before them into the close. 

‘‘ Hold the punt-about ! ” ‘‘To the goals !” are the 
cries and all stray balls are impounded by the authorities ; 
and the whole mass of boys moves up toward the two 
goals, dividing as they go into three bodies. That little 
band on the left, consisting of from fifteen to twenty 
boys, Tom among them, who are making for the goal 
under the School-house wall, are the School-house boys 
who are not to play-up, and have to stay in goal. The 
larger body moving to the island goal, are the school-boys 
in a like predicament. The great mass in the middle are 
the players-up, both sides mingled together; they are 
hanging their jackets, and, all who mean real work, their 
hats, waistcoats, neck-handkerchiefs, and braces, on the 
railings round the small trees ; and there they go by 
twos and threes up their respective grounds. There is 
none of the color and tastiness of get-up, you will per- 
ceive, which lends such a life to the present game at 
Rugby, making the dullest and worst-fought match a 
pretty sight. Now each house has its own uniform of 
cap and jersey, of some lively color; but at the time we 
125 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

are speaking of, plush caps have not yet come in or uni- 
forms of any sort, except the School-house white trousers, 
which are abominably cold to-day ; let us get to work, 
bare-headed and girded with our plain leather straps — 
but we mean business, gentlemen. 

And now that the two sides have fairly sundered, and 
each occupies its own ground, and we get a good look at 
them, what absurdity is this? You don’t mean to say 
that those fifty or sixty boys in white trousers, many of 
them quite small, are going to play that huge mass op- 
posite? Indeed I do, gentlemen; they’re going to try 
at any rate, and won’t make such a bad fight of it either, 
mark my word ; for hasn’t old Brooke won the toss, with 
his lucky halfpenny, and got choice of goals and kick- 
off? The new ball you may see lies there quite by itself in 
the middle pointing toward the school or island goal ; in 
another minute it will be well on its way there. Use that 
minute in remarking how the School-house side is drilled. 
You will see in the first place, that the sixth-form boy, 
who has the charge of goal, has spread his force (the goal- 
keepers) so as to occupy the whole space behind the goal- 
posts, at distances of about five yards apart ; a safe and 
well-kept goal is the foundation of all good play. Old 
Brooke is talking to the captain of quarters ; and now he 
moves away ; see how that youngster spreads his men 
(the light brigade) carefully over the ground, half-way 
between their own goal and the body of their own players- 
up (the heavy brigade). These again play in several 
bodies ; there is young Brooke and the bull-dogs — mark 
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Rugby and Football 

them well — they are the fighting brigade/* the die- 
hards/* larking about at leap-frog to keep themselves 
warm and playing tricks on one another. And on each side 
of old Brooke, who is now standing in the middle of the 
ground and just going to kick off, you see a separate 
wing of players-up, each with a boy of acknowledged 
prowess to look to — here Warner, and there Hedge; but 
over all is old Brooke, absolute as he of Russia, but wisely 
and bravely ruling over willing and worshipping subjects, 
a true football king. His face is earnest and careful as 
he glances a last time over his array, but full of pluck 
and hope, the sort of look I hope to see in my general 
when I go out to fight. 

The School side is not organized in the same way. 
The goal-keepers are all in lumps, anyhow and nohow; 
you can*t distinguish between the players-up and the boys 
in quarters, and there is divided leadership ; but with such 
odds in strength and weight it must take more than that 
to hinder them from winning; and so their leaders seem 
to think, for they let the players-up manage themselves. 

But now look, there is a slight move forward of the 
School-house wings ; a shout of “ Are you ready ? ** and 
loud affirmative reply. Old Brooke takes half-a-dozen 
quick steps, and away goes the ball spinning toward the 
School goal ; seventy yards before it touches ground, and 
at no point above twelve or fifteen feet high, a model 
kick-off ; and the School-house cheer and rush on ; the 
ball is returned, and they meet it and drive it back 
among the masses of the School already in motion. 

127 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

Then the two sides close, and you can see nothing for 
minutes but a swaying crowd of boys, at one point vio- 
lently agitated. That is where the ball is, and there are 
the keen players to be met, and the glory and the hard 
knocks to be got: you hear the dull thud thud of the 
ball, and the shouts of ‘‘ Off your side,” ‘‘ Down with 
him,” Put him over,” “ Bravo ! ” This is what we call 
a scrimmage, gentlemen, and the first scrimmage in a 
School-house match was no joke in the consulship of 
Plancus. 

But see ! it has broken ; the ball is driven out on the 
School-house side, and a rush of the School carries it past 
the School-house players-up. ‘‘ Look out in quarters,” 
Brooke's and twenty other voices ring out; no need to 
call though, the School-house captain of quarters has 
caught it on the bound, dodges the foremost schoolboys, 
who are heading the rush, and sends it back with a good 
drop-kick well into the enemy's country. And then fol- 
lows rush upon rush, and scrimmage upon scrimmage, the 
ball now driven through into the School-house quarters, 
and now into the School goal ; for the School-house have 
not lost the advantage which the kick-off and a slight 
wind gave them at the outset, and are slightly penning ” 
their adversaries. You say you don't see much in it all; 
nothing but a struggling mass of boys, and a leather 
ball, which seems to excite them all to great fury, as a red 
rag does a bull. My dear sir, a battle would look much 
the same to you, except that the boys would be men, and 
the balls iron ; but a battle would be worth your looking 
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Rugby and Football 

at for all that, and so is a football match. You can’t be 
expected to appreciate the delicate strokes of play, the 
turns by which a game is lost and won — it takes an old 
player to do that, but the broad philosophy of football 
you can understand if you will. Come along with me a 
little nearer, and let us consider it together. 

The ball has just fallen again where the two sides are 
thickest, and they close rapidly around it in a scrimmage ; 
it must be driven through now by force or skill, till it 
flies out on one side or the other. Look how differently 
the boys face it ! Here come two of the bull-dogs, burst- 
ing through the outsiders ; in they go, straight to the 
heart of the scrimmage, bent on driving that ball out on 
the opposite side. That is what they mean to do. My 
sons, my sons ! you are too hot ; you have gone past the 
ball, and must struggle now right through the scrimmage, 
and get round and back again to your own side, before 
you can be of any further use. Here comes young 
Brooke ; he goes in as straight as you, but keeps his 
head, and backs and bends, holding himself still behind 
the ball, and driving it furiously when he gets the chance. 
Take a leaf out his book, you young chargers. Here 
comes Speedicut, and Flashman the School-house bully 
with shouts and great action. Won’t you two come up 
to young Brooke, after locking up, by the School-house 
fire, with ‘‘ Old fellow, wasn’t that just a splendid scrim- 
mage by the three trees ! ” But he knows you, and so 
do we. You don’t really want to drive that ball through 
that scrimmage, chancing all hurt for the glory of ' the 
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Vol. 16— E 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

School-house — but to make us think that’s what you 
want — a vastly dilFerent thing ; and fellows of your kid- 
ney will never go through more than the skirts of a scrim- 
mage, where it’s all push and no kicking. We respect 
boys who keep out of it, and don’t sham going in ; but 
you — we had rather not say what we think of you. 

Then the boys who are bending and watching on the 
outside, mark them — they are most useful players, the 
dodgers ; who seize on the ball the moment it rolls out 
from among the chargers, and away with it across to the 
opposite goal ; they seldom go into the scrimmage, but 
must have more coolness than the chargers : as endless as 
are boys’ characters, so are their ways of facing or not facing 
a scrimmage at football. 

Three-quarters of an hour are gone ; first winds are 
failing, and weight and numbers beginning to tell. Yard 
by yard the School-house have been driven back, con- 
testing every inch of ground. The bull-dogs are the color 
of mother earth from shoulder to ankle, except young 
Brooke, who has a marvellous knack of keeping his legs. 
The School-house are being penned in their turn, and now 
the ball is behind their goal, under the Doctor’s wall. 

The Doctor and some of his family are there looking 
on, and seem as anxious as any boy for the success of the 
School-house. We get a minute’s breathing time before 
old Brooke kicks out, and he gives the word to play 
strongly for touch, by the three trees. Away goes the ball, 
and the bull-dogs after it, and in another minute there is 
a shout of “ In touch,” “ Our ball.” Now’s your time, 
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Rugby and Football 

old Brooke, while your men are still fresh. He stands 
with the ball in his hand, while the two sides form in deep 
lines opposite one another : he must strike it straight out 
between them. The lines are thickest close to him, but 
young Brooke and two or three of his men are shifting up 
further, where the opposite line is weak. Old Brooke 
strikes it out straight and strong, and it falls opposite his 
brother. Hurrah ! that rush has taken it right through the 
School line, and away past the three trees, far into their 
quarters, and young Brooke and the bull-dogs are close 
upon it. The School leaders rush back shouting “ Look 
out in goal,’’ and strain every nerve to catch him, but they 
are after the fleetest foot in Rugby. There they go straight 
for the School goal-posts, quarters scattering before them. 
One after another the bull-dogs go down, but young 
Brooke holds on. He is down.” No ! a long stagger, 
and the danger is past ; that was the shock of Crew, the 
most dangerous of dodgers. And now he is close to the 
School goal, the ball not three yards before him. There 
is a hurried rush of the School fags to the spot, but no one 
throws himself on the ball, the only chance, and young 
Brooke has touched it right under the School goal-posts. 

The School leaders come up furious, and administer 
toco to the wretched fags nearest at hand : they may well 
be angry, for it is all Lombard-street to a china orange 
that the School-house kick a goal with the ball touched 
in such a good place. Old Brooke of course will kick it 
out, but who shall catch and place it? Call Crab Jones. 
Here he comes, sauntering along with a straw in his mouth, 

131 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

the queerest, coolest fish in Rugby ; if he were tumbled 
into the moon, this minute, he would just pick himself up 
without taking his hands out of his pockets or turning a 
hair. But it is a moment when the boldest charger’s 
heart beats quick. Old Brooke stands with the ball un- 
der his arm motioning the School back ; he will not kick- 
out till they are all in goal, behind the posts ; they are all 
edging forward, inch by inch, to get nearer for the rush at 
Crab Jones, who stands there in front of old Brooke to 
catch the ball. If they can reach and destroy him before 
he catches, the danger is over ; and with one and the same 
rush they will carry it right away to the School-house goal. 
Fond hope ! it is kicked out and caught beautifully. Crab 
strikes his heel into the ground, to mark the spot where 
the ball was caught, beyond which the School line may not 
advance ; but there they stand, five deep, ready to rush 
the moment the ball touches the ground. Take plenty of 
room ! don’t give the rush a chance of reaching you ! place 
it true and steady! Trust Crab Jones — he has made a 
small hole with his heel for the ball to lie on, by which 
he is resting on one knee, with his eye on old Brooke. 
“ Now 1 ” Crab places the ball at the word, old Brooke 
kicks, and it rises slowly and truly as the School rush for- 
ward. 

Then a moment’s pause, while both sides look up at 
the spinning ball. There it flies, straight between the two 
posts, some five feet above the cross-bar, an unquestioned 
goal ; and a shout of real genuine joy rings out from the 
School-house players-up, and a faint echo of it comes over 
132 


Rugby and Football 

the close from the goal-keepers under the Doctor’s wall. 
A goal in the first hour — such a thing hasn’t been done 
in the School-house match this five years. 

Over ! ” is the cry : the two sides change goals, and 
the School-house goal-keepers come threading their way 
across through the masses of the School ; the most openly 
triumphant of them, among whom is Tom, a School-house 
boy of two hours’ standing, getting their ears boxed in 
the transit. Tom indeed is excited beyond measure, and 
it is all the sixth-form boy, kindest and safest of goal- 
keepers, has been able to do, to keep him from rushing 
out whenever the ball has been near their goal. So he 
holds him by his side, and instructs him in the science of 
touching. 

At this moment Griffith, the itinerant vendor of 
oranges from Hill Morton, enters the close with his 
heavy baskets ; there is a rush of small boys upon the 
little pale-faced man, the two sides mingling together, 
subdued by the great Goddess Thirst, like the English 
and French by the streams in the Pyrenees. The leaders 
are past oranges and apples, but some of them visit their 
coats and apply innocent looking ginger-beer bottles to 
their mouths. It is no ginger-beer though, I fear, and 
will do you no good. One short mad rush, and then a 
stitch in the side, and no more honest play; that’s what 
comes of those bottles. 

But now Griffith’s baskets are empty, the ball is placed 
again midway, and the School are going to kick off. 
Their leaders have sent their lumber into goal, and rated 

133 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

the rest soundly, and one hundred and twenty picked 
players-up are there, bent on retrieving the game. They 
are to keep the ball in front of the School-house goal, 
and then to drive it in by sheer strength and weight. 
They mean heavy play and no mistake, and so old Brooke 
sees; and places Crab Jones in quarters just before the 
goal, with four or five picked players, who are to keep 
the ball away to the sides, where a try at goal, if obtained, 
will be less dangerous than in front. He himself, and 
Warner and Hedge, who have saved themselves till now, 
will lead the charges. 

“Are you ready?” “Yes.” And away comes the 
ball kicked high in the air, to give the School time to rush 
on and catch it as it falls. And here they are among us. 
Meet them like Englishmen, you School-house boys, and 
charge them home. Now is the time to show what met- 
tle is in you — and there shall be a warm seat by the hall 
fire, and honor, and lots of bottled beer to-night, for him 
who does his duty in the next half-hour. And they are 
well met. Again and again the cloud of their players-up 
gathers before our goal, and comes threatening on, and 
Warner or Hedge, with young Brooke and the relics of 
the bull-dogs, break through and carry the ball back ; 
and old Brooke ranges the field like Job’s war-horse, the 
thickest scrimmage parts asunder before his rush, like the 
waves before a clipper’s bows ; his cheery voice rings over 
the field, and his eye is everywhere. And if these miss 
the ball, and it rolls dangerously in front of our goal. 
Crab Jones and his men have seized it and sent it away 

134 


Rugby and Football 

toward the sides with the unerring drop-kick. This is 
worth living for ; the whole sum of schoolboy existence 
gathered up into one straining, struggling half-hour, a 
half-hour worth a year of common life. 

The quarter to five has struck, and the play slackens 
for a minute before goal ; but there is Crew, the artful 
dodger, driving the ball in behind our goal, on the island 
side, where our quarters are weakest. Is there no one to 
meet him? Yes! look at little East! the ball is just at 
equal distances between the two, and they rush together, 
the young man of seventeen and the boy of twelve, and 
kick it at the same moment. Crew passes on without a 
stagger ; East is hurled forward by the shock, and plunges 
on his shoulders, as if he would bury himself in the 
ground ; but the ball rises straight into the air, and falls 
behind Crew’s back, while the ‘‘ bravos ” of the School- 
house attest the pluckiest charge of all that hard-fought 
day. Warner picks East up lame and half-stunned, and 
he hobbles back into goal conscious of having played the 
man. 

And now the last minutes are come, and the School 
gather for their last rush, every boy of the hundred and 
twenty who has a run left in him. Reckless of the de- 
fence of their own goal, on they come across the level big- 
side ground, the ball well down among them, straight for 
our goal, like the column of the Old Guard up the slope 
at Waterloo. All former charges have been child’s play 
to this. Warner and Hedge have met them, but still on 
they come. The bull-dogs rush in for the last time; 

135 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

they are hurled over or carried back, striving hand, foot, 
and eyelids. Old Brooke comes sweeping round the 
skirts of the play, and, turning short round, picks out the 
very heart of the scrimmage, and plunges in. It wavers 
for a moment — he has the ball! No, it has passed him, 
and his voice rings out clear over the advancing tide 
“Look out in goal.” Crab Jones catches it for a mo- 
ment ; but before he can kick, the rush is upon him and 
passes over him ; and he picks himself up behind them 
with his straw in his mouth, a little dirtier, but as cool as 
ever. 

The ball rolls slowly in behind the School-house goal 
not three yards in front of a dozen of the biggest School 
players-up. 

There stand the School-house praepostor, safest of 
goal-keepers, and Tom Brown by his side, who has 
learned his trade by this time. Now is your time, Tom. 
The blood of all the Browns is up, and the two rush in 
together, and throw themselves on the ball, under the 
very feet of the advancing column ; the praepostor on his 
hands and knees arching his back, and Tom all along on 
his face. Over them topple the leaders of the rush, 
shooting over the back of the praepostor, but falling flat 
on Tom, and knocking all the wind out of his small car- 
cass. “ Our ball,” says the praepostor, rising with his 
prize ; “ but get up there, there’s a little fellow under 
you.” They are hauled and roll off him, and Tom is 
discovered a motionless body. 

Old Brooke picks him up. “ Stand back, give him 
136 


Rugby and Football 

air/* he says ; and then feeling his limbs, adds, “ No 
bones broken. How do you feel, young un ? *’ 

“ Hah-hah,” gasps Tom, as his wind comes back, 
“ pretty well, thank you — all right.’* 

Who is he ? ** says Brooke. “ Oh, it’s Brown ; he’s 
a new boy ; I know him,” says East, coming up. 

“ Well, he is a plucky youngster, and will make a 
player,” says Brooke. 

And five o’clock strikes. ‘‘No side” is called, and 
the first day of the School-house match is over. 


137 


CHAPTER VI 


AFTER THE MATCH 

“ Some food we had.” — Shakespeare. 

the boys scattered away from the ground, and 



East leaning on Tom’s arm, and limping along. 


was beginning to consider what luxury they should 
go and buy for tea to celebrate that glorious victory, the 
two Brookes came striding by. Old Brooke caught 
sight of East, and stopped ; put his hand kindly on his 
shoulder and said, Bravo, youngster, you played fa- 
mously ; not much the matter, I hope ? ” 

“No, nothing at all,” said East, “only a little twist 
from that charge.” 

“ Well, mind and get all right for next Saturday ”; 
and the leader passed on, leaving East better for those 
few words than all the opodeldoc in England would have 
made him, and Tom ready to give one of his ears for as 
much notice. Ah ! light words of those whom we love 
and honor, what a power ye are, and how carelessly 
wielded by those who can use you ! Surely for these 
things also God will ask an account. 

“ Tea’s directly after locking-up, you see,” said East, 
hobbling along as fast as he could, “ so you come along 
down to Sally Harrowell’s ; that’s our School-house tuck- 
shop — she bakes such stunning murphies, we’ll have a 


138 




After the Match 

penn’orth each for tea; come along, or they’ll all be 
gone.” 

Tom’s new purse and money burned in his pocket; 
he wondered, as they toddled through the quadrangle 
and along the street, whether East would be insulted if 
he suggested further extravagance, as he had not sufficient 
faith in a pennyworth of potatoes. At last he blurted 
out — 

I say. East, can’t we get something else besides po- 
tatoes ? I’ve got lots of money, you know.” 

‘‘ Bless us, yes, I forgot,” said East, ‘‘ you’ve only 
just come. You see all my tin’s been gone this twelve 
weeks, it hardly ever lasts beyond the first fortnight; 
and our allowances were all stopped this morning for 
broken windows, so I haven’t got a penny. I’ve got a 
tick at Sally’s, of course; but then I hate running it 
high, you see, toward the end of the half, ’cause one 
has to shell out for it directly one comes back, and that’s 
a bore.” 

Tom didn’t understand much of this talk, but seized 
on the fact that East had no money, and was denying 
himself some little pet luxury in consequence. ‘‘Well, 
what shall I buy?” said he; “ I’m uncommon hungry.” 

“ I say,” said East, stopping to look at him and rest 
his leg, “ you’re a trump. Brown. I’ll do the same by 
you next half. Let’s have a pound of sausages, then ; 
that’s the best grub for tea I know of.” 

“Very well,” said Tom, as pleased as possible; 
“ where do they sell them ? ” 

139 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

Oh, over here, just opposite ; and they crossed 
the street and walked into the cleanest little front room 
of a small house, half parlor, half shop, and bought a 
pound of most particular sausages ; East talking pleasantly 
to Mrs. Porter while she put them in paper, and Tom 
doing the paying part. 

From Porter's they adjourned to Sally Harrowell's, 
where they found a lot of School-house boys waiting for 
the roast potatoes, and relating their own exploits in the 
day’s match at the top of their voices. The street opened 
at once into Sally’s kitchen, a low, brick-floored room, 
with large recess for fire, and chimney-corner seats. 
Poor little Sally, the most good-natured and much endur- 
ing of womankind, was bustling about with a napkin in 
her hand, from her own oven to those of the neighbors’ 
cottages, up the yard at the back of the house. Stumps, 
her husband, a short, easy-going shoemaker, with a beery 
humorous eye and ponderous calves, who lived mostly 
on his wife’s earnings, stood in a corner of the room, 
exchanging shots of the roughest description of repartee 
with every boy in turn. Stumps, you lout, you’ve had 
too much beer again to-day.” ‘‘ ’Twasn’t of your paying 
for, then ” — Stumps’s calves are running down into his 
ankles, they want to get to grass.” “ Better be doing 
that, than gone altogether like yours,” etc. Very 
poor stuff it was, but it served to make time pass ; and 
every now and then Sally arrived in the middle with a 
smoking tin of potatoes, which were cleared off in a few 
seconds, each boy as he seized his lot running off to the 
140 


After the Match 


house with Put me down two-penn’orth, Sally ” ; “ Put 
down three-penn’orth between me and Davis,” etc. 
How she ever kept the accounts so straight as she did, in 
her head and on her slate, was a perfect wonder. 

East and Tom got served at last, and started back 
for the School-house just as the locking-up bell began to 
ring ; East on the way recounting the life and adventures 
of Stumps, who was a character. Among his other small 
avocations, he was the hind carrier of a sedan-chair, the 
last of its race, in which the Rugby ladies still went out 
to tea, and in which, when he was fairly harnessed and 
carrying a load, it was the delight of small and mischiev- 
ous boys to follow him and whip his calves. This was 
too much for the temper even of Stumps, and he would 
pursue his tormentors in a vindictive and apopletic man- 
ner when released, but was easily pacified by twopence 
to buy beer with. 

The lower-school boys of the School-house, some 
fifteen in number, had tea in the lower-fifth school, and 
were presided over by the old verger or head-porter. 
Each boy had a quarter of a loaf of bread and pat of 
butter, and as much tea as he pleased; and there was 
scarcely one who didn’t add to this some further luxury, 
such as baked potatoes, a herring, sprats, or something 
of the sort ; but few, at this period of the half-year, could 
live up to a pound of Porter’s sausages, and East was in 
great magnificence upon the strength of theirs. He had 
produced a toasting-fork from his study, and set Tom to 
toast the sausages, while he mounted guard over their 
141 


Tom Brown’s School Days / 

butter and potatoes ; ’cause/' as he explained, “ yqu’re 
a new boy, and they’ll play you some trick and get our 
butter, but you can toast just as well as I.” So Tojn, in 
the midst of three or four more urchins similarly em- 
ployed, toasted his face and the sausages at the same time 
before the huge lire, till the latter cracked ; when! East 
from his watch-tower shouted that they were done ; and 
then the feast proceeded, and the festive cups of tea 
were filled and emptied, and Tom imparted of the sau- 
sages in small bits to many neighbors, and thought he 
had never tasted such good potatoes or seen such jolly 
boys. They on their parts waived all ceremony, and 
pegged away at the sausages and potatoes, and, remember- 
ing Tom’s performance in goal, voted East’s new crony 
a brick. After tea, and while the things were being 
cleared away, they gathered round the fire, and the talk 
on the match still went on ; and those who had them to 
show, pulled up their trousers and showed the hacks 
they had received in the good cause. 

They were soon however all turned out of the school, 
and East conducted Tom up to his bedroom, that he 
might get on clean things and wash himself before singing. 

‘‘What’s singing? ” said Tom, taking his head out of 
his basin, where he had been plunging it in cold water. 

“ Well, you are jolly green,” answered his friend from 
a neighboring basin. “Why, the last six Saturdays of 
every half, we sing of course ; and this is the first of them. 
No first lesson to do, you know, and lie in bed to-mor- 
row morning.” 


142 


After the Match 


“But who sings?'’ 

‘ Why, everybody, of course ; you'll see soon enough. 
We begin directly after supper, and sing till bed-time. 
It ain't such good fun now though as in the summer half, 
'cause then we sing in the little fives'-court, under the 
library, you know. We take our tables, and the big boys 
sit round, and drink beer ; double allowance on Saturday 
nights ; and we cut about the quadrangle between the songs, 
and it looks like a lot of robbers in a cave. And the 
louts come and pound at the great gates, and we pound 
back again, and shout at them. But this half we only sing 
in the hall. Come along down to my study." 

Their principal employment in the study was to clear 
out East's table, removing the drawers and ornaments and 
tablecloth ; for he lived in the bottom passage, and his 
table was in requisition for the singing. 

Supper came in due course at seven o'clock, consist- 
ing of bread and cheese and beer, which was all saved for 
the singing ; and directly afterward the fags went to work 
to prepare the hall. The School-house hall, as has been 
said, is a great long high room, with two large fires on one 
side, and two large iron-bound tables, one running down 
the middle, and the other along the wall opposite the fire- 
places. Around the upper fire the fags placed the tables 
in the form of a horse-shoe, and upon them the jugs with 
the Saturday night's allowance of beer. Then the big boys 
used to drop in and take their seats, bringing with them 
bottled beer and song-books ; for although they all knew 
the songs by heart, it was the thing to have an old manu- 

143 


Tom Brown’s School Days / 

script book descended from some departed hero, in wliich 
they were all carefully written out. / 

The sixth-form boys have not yet appeared ; so, to fill 
up the gap, an interesting and time-honored ceremony 
was gone through. Each new boy was placed on the table 
in turn, and made to sing a solo, under the penalty of 
drinking a large mug of salt and water if he resisted or 
broke down. However, the new boys all sing like night- 
ingales to-night, and the salt water is not in requisition ; 
Tom, as his part, performing the old west-country song 
of “The Leather BotteT’ with considerable applause. 
And at the half-hour down come the Bixth and fifth form 
boys, and take their places at the tables, which are filled 
up by the next biggest boys, the rest, for whom there is 
no room at the table, standing round outside. 

The glasses and mugs are filled, and then the fugle- 
man strikes up the old sea song — 

“ A wet sheet and a flowing sea, 

And a wind that follows fast,” etc. 

which is the invariable first song in the School-house, and 
all the seventy voices join in, not mindful of harmony, but 
bent on noise, which they attain decidedly ; but the gen- 
eral effect isn't bad. And then follow the “ British Gren- 
adiers," “Billy Taylor," “The Siege of Seringapatam," 
“The Jolly Postboys," and other vociferous songs in 
rapid succession, including the “ Chesapeake and the 
Shannon," a song lately introduced in honor of old 
Brooke ; and when they come to the words — 

“ Brave Broke he waved his sword, crying. Now, my lads, aboard, 

And we’ll stop their playing Yankee-doodle-dandy oh! ” 

144 


After the Match 


you expect the roof to come down. The sixth and fifth 
know that “ brave Broke of the Shannon was no sort of 
relation to our old Brooke. The fourth-form are uncer- 
tain in their belief, but for the most part hold that old 
Brooke was a midshipman then on board his uncle’s ship. 
And the lower school never doubt for a moment that 
it was our old Brooke who led the boarders, in what 
capacity they care not a straw. During the pauses the 
bottled-beer corks fly rapidly, and the talk is fast and 
merry, and the big boys, at least all of them who have a 
fellow feeling for dry throats, hand their mugs over their 
shoulders to be emptied by the small ones who stand 
round behind. 

Then Warner, the head of the house, gets up and 
wants to speak, but he can’t, for every boy knows what’s 
coming; and the big boys who sit at the tables pound 
them and cheer ; and the small boys who stand behind 
pound one another, and cheer, and rush about the hall 
cheering. Then silence being made, Warner reminds 
them of the old School-house custom of drinking the 
healths, on the first night of singing, of those who are go- 
ing to leave at the end of the half. “ He sees that they 
know what he is going to say already — (loud cheers) — 
and so won’t keep them, but only ask them to treat the 
toast as it deserves. It is the head of the eleven, the head 
of big-side football, their leader on this glorious day — 
Pater Brooke ! 

And away goes the pounding and cheering again, be- 
coming deafening when old Brooke gets on his legs : till 

145 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

a table having broken down, and a gallon or so of beer 
been upset, and all throats getting dry, silence ensues, and 
the hero speaks, leaning his hands on the table, and bend- 
ing a little forward. No action, no tricks of oratory; 
plain, strong, and straight, like his play. 

‘‘ Gentlemen of the School-house ! I am very proud 
of the way in which you have received my name, and I 
wish I could say all I should like in return. But I know 
I shan't. However, I’ll do the best I can to say what 
seems to me ought to be said by a fellow who’s just going 
to leave, and who has spent a good slice of his life here. 
Eight years it is, and eight such years as I can never 
hope to have again. So now I hope you’ll all listen to 
me — (loud cheers of ‘ that we will ’) — for I’m going to 
talk seriously. You’re bound to listen to me ; for what’s 
the use of calling me ‘ pater,’ and all that, if you don’t 
mind what I say? And I’m going to talk seriously, 
because I feel so. It’s a jolly time, too, getting to the 
end of the half, and a goal kicked by us first day — (tre- 
mendous applause) — after one of the hardest and fiercest 
day’s play I can remember in eight years — (frantic shout- 
ings). The school played splendidly, too, I will say, and 
kept it up to the last. That last charge of theirs would 
have carried away a house. I never thought to see any- 
thing again of old Crab there, except little pieces, when I 
saw him tumbled over by it — (laughter and shouting, and 
great slapping on the back of Jones by the boys nearest 
him). Well, but we beat ’em — (cheers). Aye, but why 
-did we beat ’em? answer me that — (shouts of ‘your 
146 


After the Match 


play'). Nonsense! 'Twasn't the wind and kick-off 
either — that wouldn't do it. 'Twasn't because we've 
half a dozen of the best players in the school, as we have. 
I wouldn't change Warner, and Hedge, and Crab, and 
the young un, for any six on their side — (violent cheers). 
But half a dozen fellows can't keep it up for two hours 
against two hundred. Why is it, then ? I'll tell you 
what I think. It's because we've more reliance on one 
another, more of a house feeling, more fellowship than 
the school can have. Each of us knows and can depend 
on his next hand man better — that's why we beat 'em to- 
day. We've union, they've division — there's the secret 
— (cheers). But how's this to be kept up ? How's it to 
be improved? That's the question. For I take it, we're 
all in earnest about beating the school, whatever else we 
care about. I know I'd sooner win two School-house 
matches running than get the Balliol scholarship any day 
— (frantic cheers). 

Now, Tm as proud of the house as any one. I 
believe it's the best house in the school, out-and-out — 
(cheers). But it's a long way from what I want to see it. 
First there's a deal of bullying going on. I know it 
well. I don't pry about and interfere ; that only makes 
it more underhand, and encourages the small boys to 
come to us with their fingers in their eyes telling tales, 
and so we should be worse off than ever. It's very little 
kindness for the sixth to meddle generally — you young- 
sters, mind that. You'll be all the better football players 
for learning to stand it, and to take your own parts, 

147 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

and fight it through. But depend on it, there’s nothing 
breaks up a house like bullying. Bullies are cowards, 
and one coward makes many ; so good-by to the School- 
house match if bullying gets ahead here. (Loud applause 
from the small boys, who look meaningly at Flashman 
and other boys at the tables.) Then there’s fuddling 
about in the public-houses, and drinking bad spirits, and 
punch, and such rot-gut stuff. That won’t make good 
drop-kicks or chargers of you, take my word for it. You 
get plenty of good beer here, and that’s enough for you ; 
and drinking isn’t fine or manly, whatever some of you 
may think of it. 

“ One other thing I must have a word about. A lot 
of you think and say, for I’ve heard you, ‘ There’s this 
new Doctor hasn’t been here so long as some of us, and 
he’s changing all the old customs. Rugby, and the 
School-house especially, are going to the dogs. Stand 
up for the good old ways, and down with the Doctor ! ’ 
Now I’m as fond of old Rugby customs and ways as any 
of you, and I’ve been here longer than any of you, and 
I’ll give you a word of advice in time, for I shouldn’t 
like to see any of you getting sacked. ‘ Down with the 
Doctor ! ’ is easier said than done. You’ll find him pretty 
tight on his perch, I take it, and an awkwardish customer 
to handle in that line. Besides now, what customs has 
he put down ? There was the good old custom of taking 
the linch-pins out of the farmers’ and bagmen’s gigs at 
the fairs, and a cowardly blackguard custom it was. We 
all know what came of it ; and no wonder the Doctor 
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After the Match 


objected to it. But, come now, any of you, name a 
custom that he has put down.’' 

‘‘ The hounds,” calls out a fifth-form boy, clad in a 
green cutaway with brass buttons and cord trousers, the 
leader of the sporting interest and reputed a great rider 
and keen hand generally. 

‘‘ Well we had six or seven mangy harriers and 
beagles belonging to the house. I’ll allow, and had had 
them for years, and that the Doctor put them down. But 
what good ever came of them ? Only rows with all the 
keepers for ten miles round; and big-side Hare and 
Hounds is better fun ten times over. What else ? ” 

No answer. 

‘‘ Well, I won’t go on. Think it over for yourselves : 
you’ll find, I believe, that he don’t meddle with any one 
that’s worth keeping. And mind now, I say again, look 
out for squalls, if you will go your own way, and that 
way ain’t the Doctor’s, for it’ll lead you to grief. You 
all know that I’m not the fellow to back a master through 
thick and thin. I f I saw him stopping football, or cricket, or 
bathing, or sparring. I’d be as ready as any fellow to stand 
up about it. But he don’t — he encourages them ; didn’t 
you see him out to-day for half an hour watching us ? 
(loud cheers for the Doctor); and he’s a strong, true 
man, and a wise one too, and a public-school man too 
(cheers). And so let’s stick to him, and talk no more 
rot, and drink his health as the head of the house (loud 
cheers). And now I’ve done blowing up, and very glad 
I am to have done. But it’s a solemn thing to be think- 
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Tom Brown’s School Days 

mg of leaving a place which one has lived in and loved 
for eight years ; and if one can say a word for the good 
of the old house at such a time, why, it should be said, 
whether bitter or sweet. If I hadn’t been proud of the 
house and you — ay, no one knows how proud — I 
shouldn’t be blowing you up. And now let’s get to 
singing. But before I sit down I must give you a toast 
to be drunk with three-times-three and all the honors. 
It’s a toast which I hope every one of us, wherever he 
may go hereafter, will never fail to drink when he thinks 
of the brave bright days of his boyhood. It’s a toast 
which should bind us all together, and to those who’ve 
gone before, and who’ll come after us here. It is the 
dear old School-house — the best house of the best school 
in England ! ” 

My dear boys, old and young, you who have be- 
longed or do belong to other schools and other houses, 
don’t begin throwing my poor little book about the room 
and abusing me and it, and vowing you’ll read no more 
when you get to this point. I allow you’ve provocation 
for it. But, come now — would you, any of you, give a 
fig for a fellow who didn’t believe in, and stand up for his 
own house and his own school ? You know you wouldn’t. 
Then don’t object to my cracking up the old School- 
house, Rugby. Haven’t I a right to do it, when I’m 
taking all the trouble of writing this true history for all 
your benefits ? If you ain’t satisfied, go and write the 
history of your own houses in your own times, and 
say all you know for your own schools and houses, 
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After the Match 

provided it*s true, and I’ll read it without abusing 
you. 

The last few words hit the audience in their weakest 
place ; they had been not altogether enthusiastic at sev- 
eral parts of old Brooke’s speech ; but ‘‘ the best house 
of the best school in England” was too much for them 
all, and carried even the sporting and drinking interests 
off their legs into rapturous applause, and (it is to be 
hoped) resolutions to lead a new life and remember old 
Brooke’s words ; which, however, they didn’t altogether 
do, as will appear hereafter. 

But it required all old Brooke’s popularity to carry 
down parts of his speech ; especially that relating to the 
Doctor. For there are no such bigoted holders by es- 
tablished forms and customs, be they never so foolish or 
meaningless, as English schoolboys — at least, as the 
schoolboy of our generation. We magnified into heroes 
every boy who had left, and looked upon him with awe 
and reverence, when he revisited the place a year or so 
afterward, on his way to or from Oxford or Cambridge ; 
and happy was the boy who remembered him, and sure of 
an audience as he expounded what he used to do and say, 
though it were sad enough stuff to make angels, not to 
say head-masters, weep. 

We looked upon every trumpery little custom and 
habit which had obtained in the school as though it had 
been a law of the Medes and Persians, and regarded the 
infringement or variation of it as a sort of sacrilege. And 
the Doctor, than whom no man or boy had a stronger 

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Tom Brown’s School Days 

liking for old school customs which were good and sen- 
sible, had, as has already been hinted, come into most 
decided collision with several which were neither the one 
nor the other. And as old Brooke had said, when he 
came into collision with boys or customs, there was noth- 
ing for them but to give in or take themselves off ; be- 
cause what he said had to be done, and no mistake about it. 
And this was beginning to be pretty clearly understood ; 
the boys felt that there was a strong man over them, who 
would have things his own way; and hadn't yet learned 
that he was a wise and loving man also. His personal 
character and influence had not had time to make itself 
felt, except by a very few of the bigger boys, with whom 
he came more directly in contact; and he was looked 
upon with great fear and dislike by the great majority 
even of his own house. For he had found school and 
school-house in a state of monstrous license and misrule, 
and was still employed in the necessary but unpopular 
work of setting up order with a strong hand. 

However, as has been said, old Brooke triumphed, 
and the boys cheered him and then the Doctor. And 
then more songs came and the healths of the other boys 
about to leave, who each made a speech, one flowery, 
another maudlin, a third prosy, and so on, which are not 
necessary to be here recorded. 

Half-past nine struck in the middle of the perform- 
ance of “Auld Lang Syne," a most obstreperous pro- 
ceeding ; during which there was an immense amount of 
standing with one foot on the table, knocking mugs 
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After the Match 


together and shaking hands, without which accompani- 
ments it seems impossible for the youth of Britain to 
take part in that famous old song. The under-porter of 
the School-house entered during the performance, bear- 
ing five or six long wooden candlesticks, with lighted dips 
in them, which he proceeded to stick into their holes in 
such part of the great tables as he could get at ; and then 
stood outside the ring till the end of the song, when he 
was hailed with shouts. 

Bill, you old muff, the half-hour hasn’t struck.” 
‘‘ Here, Bill, drink some cocktail,” ‘‘ Sing us a song, old 
boy,” Don’t you wish you may get the table ? ” Bill 
drank the proffered cocktail not unwillingly, and putting 
down the empty glass, remonstrated, ‘‘ Now, gentlemen, 
there’s only ten minutes to prayers, and we must get the 
hall straight.” 

Shouts of No, no ! ” and a violent effort to strike 
up “ Billy Taylor ” for the third time. Bill looked 
appealingly to old Brooke, who got up and stopped the 
noise. ‘‘ Now then, lend a hand, you youngsters, and 
get the tables back ; clear away the jugs and glasses. 
Bill’s right. Open the windows, Warner.” The boy 
addressed, who sat by the long ropes, proceeded to pull 
up the great windows, and let in a clear fresh rush of 
night air, which made the candles flicker and flutter, and 
the fires roar. The circle broke up, each collaring his 
own jug, glass, and song-book ; Bill pounced on the big 
table, and began to rattle it away to its place outside the 
buttery-door. The lower-passage boys carried off their 

153 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

small tables, aided by their friends, while above all. 
Standing on the great hall-table, a knot of untiring sons 
of harmony made night doleful by a prolonged perform- 
ance of ‘‘ God Save the King.” His Majesty King 
William IV. then reigned over us, a monarch deservedly 
popular among the boys addicted to melody, to whom 
he was chiefly known from the beginning of that excellent, 
if slightly vulgar, song in which they much delighted — 

“ Come, neighbors all, both great and small, 

Perform your duties here, 

And loudly sing ‘ live Billy our king,’ 

For bating the tax upon beer.” 

Others of the more learned in songs also celebrated his 
praises in a sort of ballad, which I take to have been 
written by some Irish loyalist. I have forgotten all but 
the chorus, which ran — 

“ God save our good King William, be his name forever blessed ; 

He’s the father of all his people, and the guardian of all the rest.” 

In troth, we were loyal subjects in those days, in a rough 
way. I trust that our successors make as much of her 
present Majesty, and, having regard to the greater refine- 
ment of the times, have adopted or written other songs 
equally hearty, but more civilized, in her honor. 

Then the quarter to ten struck, and the prayer-bell 
rang. The sixth and fifth form boys ranged themselves 
in their school order along the wall, on either side of the 
great fires, the middle fifth and upper-school boys round 
the long table in the middle of the hall, and the lower- 
school boys round the upper part of the second long 
table, which ran down the side of the hall furthest from 

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the fires. Here Tom found himself at the bottom of 
all, in a state of mind and body not at all fit for prayers, 
as he thought ; and so tried hard to make himself serious, 
but couldn’t, for the life of him, do anything but repeat 
in his head the choruses of some of the songs, and stare 
at all the boys opposite, wondering at the brilliancy of 
their waistcoats, and speculating what sort of fellows they 
were. The steps of the head-porter are heard on the 
stairs, and a light gleams at the door. “ Hush ! ” from 
the fifth-form boys who stand there, and then in strides 
the Doctor, cap on head, book in one hand, and gather- 
ing up his gown in the other. He walks up the middle, 
and takes his post by Warner, who begins calling over 
the names. The Doctor takes no notice of anything, 
but quietly turns over his book and finds the place, and 
then stands, cap in hand and finger in book, looking 
straight before his nose. He knows better than any one 
when to look, and when to see nothing ; to-night is 
singing night, and there’s been lots of noise and no harm 
done ; nothing but beer drunk, and nobody the worse for 
it ; though some of them do look hot and excited. So 
the Doctor sees nothing, but fascinates Tom in a horrible 
manner as he stands there, and reads out the Psalm 
in that deep, ringing, searching voice of his. Prayers 
are over, and Tom still stares open-mouthed after the 
Doctor’s retiring figure, when he feels a pull at his sleeve, 
and turning round sees East. 

say, were you ever tossed in a blanket?” 

“No,” said Tom; “why?” 

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Tom Brown’s School Days 

‘‘ ’Cause there’ll be tossing to-night, most likely, be- 
fore the sixth come up to bed. So if you funk, you just 
come along and hide, or else they’ll catch you and toss you.” 

‘‘Were you ever tossed? Does it hurt?” inquired 
Tom. 

“ Oh yes, bless you, a dozen times,” said East, as he 
hobbled along by Tom’s side upstairs; “It don’t hurt 
unless you fall on the floor. But most fellows don’t 
like it.” 

They stopped at the fireplace in the top passage, 
where were a crowd of small boys whispering together, 
and evidently unwilling to go up into the bedrooms. In 
a minute, however, a study door opened, and a sixth-form 
boy came out, and off they all scuttled up the stairs, and 
then noiselessly dispersed to their different rooms. Tom’s 
heart beat rather quick as he and East reached their room, 
but he had made up his mind, “ I shan’t hide. East,” 
said he. 

“Very well, old fellow,” replied East, evidently 
pleased; “no more shall I — They’ll be here for us 
directly.” 

The room was a great big one, with a dozen beds in 
it, but not a boy that Tom could see, except East and 
himself. East pulled off his coat and waistcoat, and then 
sat on the bottom of his bed, whistling, and pulling off 
his boots; Tom followed his example. 

A noise and steps are heard in the passage, the door 
opens, and in rush four or five great fifth-form boys, 
headed by Flashman in his glory. 

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After the Match 


Tom and East slept in the further corner of the room, 
and were not seen at first. 

‘‘ Gone to ground, eh ? roared Flashman ; ‘‘ push 'em 
out then, boys ! look under the beds ” : and he pulled 
up the little white curtain of the one nearest him. 
“Who-o-op,” he roared, pulling away at the leg of a 
small boy, who held on tight to the leg of the bed, and 
sung out lustily for mercy. 

Here, lend a hand, one of you, and help me pull 
out this young howling brute. Hold your tongue, sir, 
or ril kill you.” 

‘‘Oh, please, Flashman, please. Walker, don’t toss 
me! I’ll fag for you. I’ll do anything, only don’t 
toss me.” 

“You be hanged,” said Flashman, lugging the 

wretched boy along, “ ’twon’t hurt you, you 1 Come 

along, boys, here he is.” 

“ I say. Flashy,” sung out another of the big boys, 
“drop that; you heard what old Pater Brooke said to- 
night. I’ll be hanged if we’ll toss any one against their 
will — no more bullying. Let him go, I say.” 

Flashman, with an oath and a kick, released his prey, 
who rushed headlong under his bed again, for fear they 
should change their minds, and crept along underneath 
the other beds, till he got under that of the sixth-form 
boy, which he knew they daren’t disturb. 

“ There’s plenty of youngsters don’t care about it,” 
said Walker. “ Here, here’s Scud East — you’ll be 
tossed, won’t you, young un?” Scud was East’s nick- 
157 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

name, or Black, as we called it, gained by his fleetness 
of foot. 

“Yes,” said East, “if you like, only mind my foot.” 

“ And here’s another who didn’t hide. Hullo ! new 
boy; what’s your name, sir?” 

“ Brown.” 

“ Well,Whitey Brown, you don’t mind being tossed ? ” 

“No,” said Tom, setting his teeth. 

“Come along then, boys,” sung out Walker; and 
away they all went, carrying along Tom and East, to the 
intense relief of four or five other small boys, who crept 
out from under the beds and behind them. 

“ What a trump Scud is ! ” said one. “ They won’t 
come back here now.” 

“ And that new boy, too ; he must be a good plucked 
one.” 

“ Ah ! wait till he has been tossed on to the floor ; see 
how he’ll like it then ! ” 

Meantime the procession went down the passage to 
Number 7, the largest room, and the scene of tossing, in 
the middle of which was a great open space. Here they 
joined other parties of the bigger boys, each with a cap- 
tive or two, some willing to be tossed, some sullen, and 
some frightened to death. At Walker’s suggestion, all 
who were afraid were let off, in honor of Pater Brooke’s 
speech. 

Then a dozen big boys seized hold of a blanket 
dragged from one of the beds. “In with Scud, quick ! 
there’s no time to lose.” East was chucked into the blan- 
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After the Match 


ket. ‘‘ Once, twice, thrice, and away ” ; up he went like a 
shuttlecock, but not quite up to the ceiling. 

‘‘ Now, boys, with a will,’' cried Walker, once, twice, 
thrice, and away ! ” This time he went clean up, and kept 
himself from touching the ceiling with his hand ; and so 
again a third time, when he was turned out, and up went 
another boy. And then came Tom’s turn. He lay quite 
still, by East’s advice, and didn’t dislike the “ once, twice, 
thrice ” ; but the “ away ” wasn’t so pleasant. They were 
in good wind now, and sent him slap up to the ceiling first 
time, against which his knees came rather sharply. But 
the moment’s pause before descending was the rub, the 
feeling of utter helplessness, and of leaving his whole inside 
behind him sticking to the ceiling. Tom was very near 
shouting to be set down, when he found himself back in 
the blanket, but thought of East, and didn’t ; and so took 
his three tosses without a kick or a cry, and was called a 
young trump for his pains. 

He and East, having earned it, stood now looking on. 
No catastrophe happened, as all the captives were cool 
hands, and didn’t struggle. This didn’t suit Flashman. 
What your real bully likes in tossing, is when the boys 
kick and struggle, or hold on to one side of the blanket, 
and so get pitched bodily on to the floor ; it’s no fun to 
him when no one is hurt or frightened. 

Let’s toss two of them together. Walker,” suggested 
he. , 

“ What a cursed bully you are. Flashy ! ” rejoined the 
other. ‘‘Up with another one.” 

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Tom Brown’s School Days 

And so no two boys were tossed together, the pecu- 
liar hardship of which is, that it's too much for human 
nature to lie still then and share troubles ; and so the 
wretched pair of small boys struggle in the air which 
shall fall a-top in the descent, to the no small risk of both 
falling out of the blanket, and the huge delight of brutes 
like Flashman. 

But now there's a cry that the praepostor of the room 
is coming ; so the tossing stops, and all scatter to their 
different rooms : and Tom is left to turn in, with the first 
day's experience of a public school to meditate upon. 


i6o 


CHAPTER VII 


SETTLING TO THE COLLAR 

j Says Giles, “ ’Tis mortal hard to go; 

But if so he’s I must, 

I means to follow arter he 
As goes hisself the fust.” — Ballad. 

E verybody, I suppose, knows the dreamy de- 
licious state in which one lies, half asleep, half 
awake, while consciousness begins to return, after 
a sound night’s rest in a new place which we are glad 
to be in, following upon a day of unwonted excitement 
and exertion. There are few pleasanter pieces of life. 
The worst of it is that they last such a short time ; for, 
nurse them as you will, by lying perfectly passive in 
mind and body, you can’t make more than five minutes or 
so of them. After which time, the stupid, obtrusive, 
wakeful entity which we call “ I,” as impatient as he is 
stiff-necked, spite of our teeth, will force himself back 
again, and take possession of us down to our very toes. 

It was in this state that Master Tom lay at half-past 
seven on the morning following the day of his arrival, 
and from his clean little white bed watched the move- 
ments of Bogle (the generic name by which the successive 
shoeblacks of the School-house were known), as he 
marched round from bed to bed, collecting the dirty shoes 
and boots, and depositing clean ones in their places. 

i6i 


Vol. i6-F 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

There he lay, half doubtful as to where exactly in the 
universe he was, but conscious that he had made a step 
in life which he had been anxious to make. It was only 
just light as he looked lazily out of the wide windows, 
and saw the tops of the great elms, and the rooks circling 
about, and cawing remonstrances to the lazy ones of their 
commonwealth, before starting in a body for the neigh- 
boring plowed fields. The noise of the room-door clos- 
ing behind Bogle, as he made his exit with the shoe- 
basket under his arm, roused Tom thoroughly, and he 
sat up in bed and looked round the room. What in the 
world could be the matter with his shoulders and loins ? 
He felt as if he had been severely beaten all down his 
back, the natural result of his performance at his first 
match. He drew up his knees and rested his chin on 
them, and went over all the events of yesterday, rejoicing 
in his new life, what he had seen of it, and all that was 
to come. 

Presently one or two of the other boys roused them- 
selves, and began to sit up and talk to one another in 
low tones. Then East, after a roll or two, came to an 
anchor also, and, nodding to Tom, began examining his 
ankle. 

‘‘ What a pull,” said he, “ that it’s lie-in-bed, for I 
shall be as lame as a tree, I think.” 

It was Sunday morning, and Sunday lectures had not 
yet been established ; so that nothing but breakfast inter- 
vened between bed and eleven o’clock chapel ; a gap by 
no means easy to fill up : in fact, though received with 
162 


Settling to the Collar 

the correct amount of grumbling, the first lecture insti- 
tuted by the Doctor shortly afterward was a great boon 
to the School. It was lie in bed, and no one was in a 
hurry to get up, especially in rooms where the sixth-form 
boy was a good-tempered fellow, as was the case in Tom’s 
room, and allowed the small boys to talk and laugh, and 
do pretty much what they pleased, so long as they didn’t 
disturb him. His bed was a bigger one than the rest, 
standing in the corner by the fireplace, with a washing- 
stand and large basin by the side, where he lay in state, 
with his white curtains tucked in so as to form a retiring 
place: an awful subject of contemplation to Tom, who 
slept nearly opposite, and watched the great man rouse 
himself arid take a book from under his pillow, and begin 
reading, leaning his head on his hand, and turning his 
back to the room. Soon, however, a noise of striving 
urchins arose, and muttered encouragements from the 
neighboring boys, of — Go it. Tadpole ! ” Now, young 
Green ! ” “ Haul away his blanket !” “ Slipper him on 

the hands !” Young Green and little Hall, commonly 
called Tadpole, from his great black head and thin legs, 
slept side by side far away by the door, and were forever 
playing one another tricks, which usually ended, as on 
this morning, in open and violent collision : and now, 
unmindful of all order and authority, there they were, 
each hauling away at the other’s bed-clothes with one 
hand, and with the other, armed with a slipper, belabor- 
ing whatever portion of the body of his adversary came 
within reach. 

163 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

Hold that noise, up in the corner,'' called out the 
praepostor, sitting up and looking round his curtains ; 
and the Tadpole and young Green sank down into their 
disordered beds, and then, looking at his watch, added 
‘‘ Hullo, past eight ! — whose turn for hot water ? " 

(Where the praepostor was particular in his ablutions, 
the fags in his room had to descend in turn to the 
kitchen, and beg or steal hot water for him ; and often 
the custom extended further, and two boys went down 
every morning to get a supply for the whole room.) 

‘‘ East's and Tadpole's," answered the senior fag, who 
kept the rota. 

‘‘ I can't go," said East; I'm dead lame." 

“Well, be quick, some of you, that's all," said the 
great man, as he turned out of bed, and putting on his 
slippers, went out into the great passage which runs the 
whole length of the bedrooms, to get his Sunday habili- 
ments out of his portmanteau. 

“ Let me go for you," said Tom to East, “ I should 
like it." 

“Well, thank'ee, that's a good fellow. Just pull on 
your trousers, and take your jug and mine. Tadpole 
will show you the way." 

And so Tom and the Tadpole, in night-shirts and 
trousers, started off downstairs, and through “ Thos's 
hole," as the little buttery, where candies and beer and 
bread and cheese were served out at night, was called ; 
across the School-house court, down a long passage, and 
into the kitchen ; where, after some parley with the stal- 
164 


Settling to the Collar 

wart, handsome cook, who declared that she had filled a 
dozen jugs already, they got their hot water and returned 
with all speed and great caution. As it was, they narrowly 
escaped capture by some privateers from the fifth-form 
rooms, who were on the lookout for the hot-water convoys, 
and pursued them up to the very door of their room, mak- 
ing them spill half their load in the passage. Better than 
going down again though,'' Tadpole remarked, “ as we 
should have had to do, if those beggars had caught us." 

By the time that the calling-over bell rang, Tom and 
his new comrades were all down, dressed in their best 
clothes, and he had the satisfaction of answering here " 
to his name for the first time, the praepostor 6f the week 
having put it in at the bottom of his list. And then came 
breakfast, and a saunter about the close and town with 
East, whose lameness only became severe when any fagging 
had to be done. And so they whiled away the time until 
morning chapel. 

It was a fine November morningj and the close soon 
became alive with boys of all ages, who sauntered about 
on the grass, or walked round the gravel walk, in parties 
of two or three. East, still doing the cicerone, pointed out 
all the remarkable characters to Tom as they passed : Os- 
bert, who could throw a cricket-ball from the little-side 
ground over the rook trees to the Doctor's wall ; Gray, 
who had got the Balliol scholarship, and, what East evi- 
dently thought of much more importance, a half-holiday 
for the School by his success ; Thorne, who had run ten 
miles in two minutes over the hour ; Black, who had held 
165 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

his own against the cock of the town in the last row with 
the louts ; and many more heroes, who then and there 
walked about and were worshipped, all trace of whom has 
long since vanished from the scene of their fame ; and the 
fourth-form boy who reads their names rudely cut out on 
the old hall tables, or painted upon the big side-cupboard 
(if hall tables and big side-cupboards still exist), wonders 
what manner of boys they were. It will be the same with 
you who wonder, my sons, whatever your prowess may be, 
in cricket, or scholarship, or football. Two or three years, 
more or less, and then the steadily advancing, blessed wave 
will pass over your names as it has passed over ours. Nev- 
ertheless, play your games and do your work manfully — 
see only that that be done, and let the remembrance of it 
take care of itself. 

The chapel-bell began to ring at a quarter to eleven, 
and Tom got in early and took his place in the lowest row, 
and watched a-11 the other boys come in and take their 
places, filling row after row; and tried to construe the 
Greek text which was inscribed over the door with the 
slightest possible success, and wondered which of the mas- 
ters, who walked down the chapel and took their seats in 
the exalted boxes at the end, would be his lord. And 
then came the closing of the doors, and the Doctor in his 
robes and the service, which, however, didn’t impress him 
much, for his feeling of wonder and curiosity was too strong. 
And the boy on one side of him was scratching his name on 
the oak panelling in front, and he couldn’t help watching 
to see what the name was, and whether it was well scratched ; 

1 66 


Settling to the Collar 

and the boy on the other side went to sleep and kept falling 
against him ; and on the whole, though many boys even in 
that part of the School were serious and attentive, the 
general atmosphere was by no means devotional ; and 
when he got out into the close again, he didn’t feel at all 
comfortable, or as if he had been to church. 

But at afternoon chapel it was quite another thing. He 
had spent the time after dinner in writing home to his 
mother, and so was in a better frame of mind ; and his first 
curiosity was over, and he could attend more to the ser- 
vice. As the hymn after the prayers was being sung, and 
the chapel was getting a little dark, he was beginning to 
feel that he had been really worshipping. And then came 
that great event in his, as in every Rugby boy’s life of that 
day — the first sermon from the Doctor. 

More worthy pens than mine have described that scene. 
The oak pulpit standing out by itself above the School 
seats. The tall gallant form, the kindling eye, the voice, 
now soft as the low notes of a flute, now clear and stirring 
as the call of the light infantry bugle, of him who stood 
there Sunday after Sunday, witnessing and pleading for his 
Lord, the King of righteousness and love and glory, with 
whose spirit he was filled, and in whose power he spoke. 
The long lines of young faces, rising tier above tier down 
the whole length of the chapel, from the little boy’s who 
had just left his mother to the young man’s who was going 
out next week into the great world rejoicing in his strength. 
It was a great and solemn sight, and never more so than 
at this time of year, when the only lights in the chapel were 
167 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

in the pulpit and at the seats of the praepostors of the 
week, and the soft twilight stole over the rest of the 
chapel, deepening into darkness in the high gallery 
behind the organ. 

But what was it after all which seized and held these 
three hundred boys, dragging them out of themselves, 
willing or unwilling, for twenty minutes, on Sunday after- 
noon? True, there always were boys scattered up and 
down the School, who in heart and head were worthy 
to hear and able to carry away the deepest and wisest 
words there spoken. But these were a minority always, 
generally a very small one, often so small a one as to be 
countable on the fingers of your hand. What was it that 
moved and held us, the rest of the three hundred reck- 
less, childish boys, who feared the Doctor with all our 
hearts, and very little besides in heaven or earth : who 
thought more of our sets in the School than of the Church 
of Christ, and put the traditions of Rugby and the pub- 
lic opinion of boys in our daily life above the laws of 
God? We couldn't enter into half that we heard; we 
hadn't the knowledge of our own hearts or the knowledge 
of one another ; and little enough of the faith, hope, and 
love needed to that end. But we listened, as all boys in 
their better moods will listen (aye, and men. too, for the 
matter of that), to a man who we felt to be, with all his 
heart and soul and strength, striving against whatever 
was mean and unmanly and unrighteous in our little 
world. It was not the cold clear voice of one giving ad- 
vice and warning from serene heights to those who were 
i68 


Settling to the Collar 

struggling and sinning below, but the warm living voice 
of one who was fighting for us and by our sides, and 
calling on us to help him and ourselves and one another. 
And so, wearily and little by little, but surely and stead- 
ily on the whole, was brought home to the young boy, 
for the first time, the meaning of his life : that it was no 
fool's or sluggard's paradise into which he had wandered 
by chance, but a battle-field ordained from of old, where 
there are no spectators, but the youngest must take his side, 
and the stakes are life and death. And he who roused his 
consciousness in them showed them at the same time, by 
every word he spoke in the pulpit, and by his whole daily 
life, how that battle was to be fought ; and stood there 
before them their fellow-soldier and the captain of their 
band. The true sort of captain, too, for a boy's army, 
one who had no misgivings and gave no uncertain word 
of command, and, let who would yield or make a truce, 
would fight the fight out (so every boy felt) to the last 
gasp and the last drop of blood. Other sides of his char- 
acter might take hold of and influence boys here and there, 
but it was this thoroughness and undaunted courage which 
more than anything else won his way to the hearts of the 
great mass of those on whom he left his mark, and made 
them believe first in him, and then in his Master. 

It was this quality above all others which moved such 
boys as our hero, who had nothing whatever remarkable 
about him except excess of boyishness ; by which I mean 
animal life in its fullest measure, good nature and honest 
impulses, hatred of injustice and meanness and thought- 
169 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

lessness enough to sink a three-decker. And so, during 
the next two years, in which it was more than doubtful 
whether he would get good or evil from the School, and 
before any steady purpose or principle grew up in him, 
whatever his week's sins and shortcomings might have 
been, he hardly ever left the chapel on Sunday evenings 
without a serious resolve to stand by and follow the 
Doctor, and a feeling that it was only cowardice (the in- 
carnation of all other sins in such a boy's mind) which 
hindered him from doing so with all his heart. 

The next day Tom was duly placed in the third form 
and began his lessons in a corner of the big School. He 
found the work very easy, as he had been well grounded 
and knew his grammar by heart ; and, as he had no inti- 
mate companion to make him idle (East and his other 
School-house friends being in the lower fourth, the form 
above him), soon gained golden opinions from his mas- 
ter, who said he was placed too low, and should be put 
out at the end of the half-year. So all went well with 
him in School, and he wrote the most flourishing letters 
home to his mother, full of his success and the unspeak- 
able delights of a public school. 

In the house, too, all went well. The end of the 
half-year was drawing near, which kept everybody in a 
good humor, and the house was ruled well and strongly 
by Warner and Brooke. True, the general system was 
rough and hard, and there was bullying in nooks and 
corners, bad signs for the future ; but it never got fur- 
ther, or dared show itself openly, stalking about the 
170 


Settling to the Collar 

passages and halls and bedrooms, and making the life ot 
the small boys a continual fear. 

Tom, as a new boy, was of right excused fagging for 
the first month, but in his enthusiasm for his new life this 
privilege hardly pleased him ; and East and others of his 
young friends discovering this, kindly allowed him to in- 
dulge his fancy, and take their turns at night fagging and 
cleaning studies. These were the principal duties of the 
fags in the house. From supper until nine o'clock, three 
fags taken in order stood in the passages, and answered 
any praepostor who called fag, racing to the door, the last 
comer having to do the work. This consisted generally 
of going to the buttery for beer and bread and cheese 
(for the great men did not sup with the rest, but had each 
his own allowance in his study or the fifth-form room), 
cleaning candlesticks and putting in new candles, toasting 
cheese, bottling beer, and carrying messages about the 
house ; and Tom, in the first blush of his hero-worship, 
felt it a high privilege to receive orders from, and be the 
bearer of, the supper of old Brooke. And besides this 
night-work, each praepostor had three or four fags spe- 
cially allotted to him, of whom he was supposed to be 
the guide, philosopher and friend, and who in return for 
these good offices had to clean out his study every morn- 
ing by turns, directly after first lesson and before he re- 
turned from breakfast. And the pleasure of seeing the 
great men's studies, and looking at their pictures, and 
peeping into their books, made Tom a ready substitute 
for any boy who was too lazy to do his own work. And 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

SO he soon gained the character of a good-natured, willing 
fellow, who was ready to do a turn for any one. 

In all the' games too he joined with all his heart 
and soon became well versed in all the mysteries of foot- 
ball, by continued practice at the School-house little-side, 
which played daily. 

The only incident worth recording here, however, was 
his first run at Hare-and-hounds. On the last Tuesday 
but one of the half-year he was passing through the Hall 
after dinner, when he was hailed with shouts from Tad- 
pole and several other fags seated at one of the long 
tables, the chorus of which was ‘‘ Come and help us tear 
up scent.'’ 

Tom approached the table in obedience to the mys- 
terious summons, always ready to help, and found the 
party engaged in tearing up old newspapers, copy-books, 
and magazines into small pieces, with which they were 
filling four large canvas bags. 

“ It’s the turn of our house to find scent for big- 
side Hare-and-hounds,” exclaimed Tadpole; ‘‘tearaway, 
there’s no time to lose before calling-over.” 

“ I think it’s a great shame,” said another small boy, 
“ to have such a hard run for the last day.” 

“ Which run is it ? ” said Tadpole. 

“Oh, the Barby run, I hear,” answered the other; 
“nine miles at least, and hard ground; no chance of 
getting in at the finish, unless you’re a first-rate scud.” 

“Well, I’m going to have a try,” said Tadpole; “it’s 
the last run of the half, and if a fellow gets in at the end, 
172 


Settling to the Collar 

big-side stands ale and bread and cheese, and a bowl of 
punch ; and the Cock's such a famous place for ale." 

‘‘ I should like to try too," said Tom. 

“Well then, leave your waistcoat behind, and listen 
at the door, after calling-over, and you'll hear where the 
meet is." 

After calling-over, sure enough, there were two boys 
at the door, calling out, “ Big-side Hare-and-hounds meet 
at White Hall"; and Tom, having girded himself with 
leather strap, and left all superfluous clothing behind, set 
off for White Hall, an old gable-ended house some quar- 
ter of a mile from town, with East, whom he had per- 
suaded to join, notwithstanding his prophecy that they 
could never get in, as it was the hardest run of the 
year. 

At the meet they found some forty or fifty boys, and 
Tom felt sure, from having seen many of them run at 
football, that he and East were more likely to get in than 
they. 

After a few minutes ' waiting, two well-known runners, 
chosen for the hares, buckled on the four bags filled with 
scent, compared their watches with those of young Brooke 
and Thorne, and started oflF at a long slinging trot across 
the fields in the direction of Barby. 

Then the hounds clustered round Thorne, who ex- 
plained shortly, “They're to have six minutes' law. We 
run into the Cock, and every one who comes in within a 
quarter of an hour of the hares 'll be counted, if he has 
been round Barby church." Then came a minute's pause 

173 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

or so, and then the watches are pocketed, and the pack 
is led through the gateway into the field which the hares 
had first crossed. Here they break into a trot, scattering 
over the field to find the first traces of the scent which 
the hares throw out as they go along. The old hounds 
make straight for the likely points, and in a minute a cry 
of “ forward ” comes from one of them, and the whole 
pack quickening their pace make for the spot, while th^ 
boy who hit the scent first and the two or three nearest 
to him are over the first fence, and making play along the 
hedgerow in the long grass-field beyond. The rest of 
the pack rush at the gap already made, and scramble 
through, jostling one another. “ Forward ” again, before 
they are half through ; the pace quickens into a sharp 
run, the tail hounds all straining to get up with the lucky 
leaders. They are gallant hares, and the scent lies thick 
right across another meadow and into a ploughed field, 
where the pace begins to tell ; and then over a good 
wattle with a ditch on the other side, and down a large 
pasture studded with old thorns, which slopes down to 
the first brook ; the great Licestershire sheep charge away 
across the field as the pack comes racing down the slope. 
The brook is a small one, and the scent lies right ahead 
up the opposite slope, and as thick as ever ; not a turn or 
a check to favor the tail hounds, who strain on, now 
trailing in a long line, many a youngster beginning to 
drag his legs heavily, and feel his heart beat like a ham- 
mer, and the bad plucked ones thinking that after all it 
isn’t worth while to keep it up. 


Settling to the Collar 

Tom, East, and the Tadpole had a good start, and 
are well up for such young hands, and after rising the 
slope and crossing the next field, find themselves up with 
the leading hounds, who have overrun the scent and are 
trying back ; they have come a mile and a half in about 
eleven minutes, a pace which shows that it is the last day. 
About twenty-five of the original starters only show 
here, the rest having already given in ; the leaders are 
busy making casts into the fields on the left and right, 
and the others get their second winds. 

Then comes the cry of “ forward ” again, from young 
Brooke, from the extreme left, and the pack settles down 
to work again steadily and doggedly, the whole keeping 
pretty well together. The scent, though still good, is 
not so thick ; there is no need of that, for in this part of 
the run every one knows the line which must be taken, 
and so there are no casts to be made, but good down- 
right running and fencing to be done. All who are now 
up mean coming in, and they come to the foot of Barby 
Hill without losing more than two or three more of the 
pack. This last straight two miles and a half is always 
a vantage ground for the hounds, and the hares know it 
well ; they are generally viewed on the side of Barby 
Hill, and all eyes are on the look-out for them to-day. 
But not a sign of them appears, so now will be the hard 
work for the hounds, and there is nothing for it but to 
cast about for the scent, for it is now the hares’ turn, and 
they may baffle the pack dreadfully in the next two miles. 

Ill fares it now with our youngsters that they are 

175 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

School-house boys, and so follow young Brooke, for he 
takes the wide casts round to the left, conscious of his 
own powers, and loving the hard work. For if you 
would consider for a moment, you small boys, you would 
remember that the Cock, where the run ends, and the 
good ale will be going, lies far out to the right on the 
Dunchurch road, so that every cast you take to the left 
is so much extra work. And at this stage of the run, 
when the evening is closing in already, no one remark^ 
whether you run a little cunning or not, so you should 
stick to those crafty hounds who keep edging away co 
the right, and not follow a prodigal like young Brooke, 
whose legs are twice as long as yours and of cast-iron, 
wholly indifferent to two or three miles more or less. 
However, they struggle after him, sobbing and plunging 
along, Tom and East pretty close, and Tadpole, whose 
big head begins to pull him down, some thirty yards 
behind. 

Now comes a brook, with stiff clay banks, from which 
they can hardly drag their legs, and they hear faint cries 
for help from the wretched Tadpole, who has fairly stuck 
fast. But they have too little run left in themselves to 
pull up for their own brothers. Three fields more, and 
another check, and then “forward’* called away to the ex- 
treme right. 

The two boys’ souls die within them ; they can never 
do it. Young Brooke thinks so too, and says kindly, 
“You’ll cross a lane after next field, keep down it, and 
you’ll hit the Dunchurch road below the Cock,” and then 
176 


Settling to the Collar 

steams away for the run in, in which he’s sure to be first, 
as if he were just starting. They struggle on across the 
next field, the “ forwards ” getting fainter and fainter, and 
then ceasing. The whole hunt is out of earshot, and all 
hope of coming in is over. 

“ Hang it all ! ” broke out East, as soon as he had got 
wind enough, pulling off his hat and mopping at his face, 
all spattered with dirt and lined with sweat, from which 
went up a thick steam into the still cold air. “ I told you 
how it would be. What a thick I was to come ! Here 
we are dead beat, and yet I know we’re close to the run in, 
if we knew the country.” 

“ Well,” said Tom, mopping away, and gulping down 
his disappointment, “it can’t be helped. We did our 
best anyhow. Hadn’t we better find this lane, and go 
down it, as young Brooke told us ? ” 

“ I suppose so — nothing else for it,” grunted East. 
“ If ever I go out last day again,” growl — growl — growl. 

So they tried back slowly and sorrowfully, and found 
the lane, and went limping down it, plashing in the cold 
puddly ruts, and beginning to feel how the run had taken 
it out of them. The evening closed in fast, and clouded 
over, dark, cold, and dreary. 

“ I say it must be locking-up, I should think,” re- 
marked East, breaking the silence; “it’s so dark.” 

“What if we’re late?” said Tom. 

“No tea, and sent up to the Doctor,” answered 
East. 

The thought didn’t add to their cheerfulness. Pres- 
177 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

ently a faint halloo was heard from an adjoining field. 
They answered it and stopped, hoping for some compe- 
tent rustic to guide them, when over a gate some twenty 
yards ahead crawled the wretched Tadpole, in a state of 
collapse ; he had lost a shoe in the brook, and been grop- 
ing after it up to his elbows in the stiff, wet clay, and a 
more miserable creature in the shape of boy seldom has 
been seen. 

The sight of him, notwithstanding, cheered them, for 
he was some degrees more wretched than they. They 
also cheered him, as he was now no longer under the 
dread of passing his night alone in the fields. And so in 
better heart, the three plashed painfully down the never- 
ending lane. At last it widened, just as utter darkness set 
in, and they come out on to a turnpike-road, and there 
paused, bewildered, for they had lost all bearings, and 
knew not whether to turn to the right or left. 

Luckily for them they had not to decide, for lumber- 
ing along the road, with one lamp lighted, and two spav- 
ined horses in the shafts, came a heavy coach, which after 
a moment’s suspense they recognized as the Oxford coach, 
the redoubtable Pig and Whistle. 

It lumbered slowly up, and the boys mustering their 
last run, caught it as it passed, and began scrambling up 
behind, in which exploit East missed his footing and fell 
flat on his nose along the road. Then the others hailed 
the old scarecrow of a coachman, who pulled up and 
agreed to take them in for a shilling ; so there they sat on 
the back seat, drubbing with their heels, and their teeth 
178 


Settling to the Collar 

chattering with cold, and jogged into Rugby some forty 
minutes after locking-up. 

Five minutes afterward, three small, limping, shiver- 
ing figures steal along through the Doctor’s garden, and 
into the house by the servants’ entrance (all the other 
gates have been closed long since), where the first thing 
they light upon in the passage is old Thomas, ambling 
along, candle in one hand and keys in the other. 

He stops and examines their condition with a grim 
smile. “ Ah ! East, Hall, and Brown, late for locking-up. 
Must go up to the Doctor’s study at once.” 

‘‘Well, but, Thomas, mayn’t we go and wash first? 
You can put down the time, you know.” 

“ Doctor’s study d’rectly you come in — that’s the 
orders,” replied old Thomas, motioning toward the stairs 
at the end of the passage which led up into the Doctor’s 
house ; and the boys turned ruefully down it, not cheered 
by the old verger’s muttered remark, “ What a pickle 
they boys be in ! ” Thomas referred to their faces and 
habiliments, but they construed it as indicating the Doc- 
tor’s state of mind. Upon the short flight of stairs they 
paused to hold counsel. 

“ Who’ll go in first ? ” inquires Tadpole. 

“You — you’re the senior,” answered East. 

“ Catch me — look at the state I’m in,” rejoined Hall, 
showing the arms of his jacket. “ I must get behind you 
two.” 

“ Well, but look at me,” said East, indicating the mass 
of clay behind which he was standing ; “ I’m worse than 
179 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

you, two to one ; you might grow cabbages on my 
trousers.” 

“ That's all down below, and you can keep your legs 
behind the sofa,” said Hall. 

Here, Brown, you're the show-figure — you must 
lead.” 

‘^But my face is all muddy,” argued Tom. 

Oh, we're all in one boat for that matter ; but come 
on, we're only making it worse, dawdling here.” 

‘‘ Well, just give us a brush then,” said Tom ; and 
they began trying to rub off the superfluous dirt from each 
other's jackets, but it was not dry enough, and the rubbing 
made it worse ; so in despair they pushed through the 
swing door at the head of the stairs, and found themselves 
in the Doctor's hall. 

‘‘ That's the library door,” said East in a whisper, 
pushing Tom forward. The sound of merry voices and 
laughing came from within, and his first hesitating knock 
was unanswered. But at the second, the Doctor's voice 
said “ Come in,” and Tom turned the handle, and he, with 
the others behind him, sidled into the room. 

The Doctor looked up from his task ; he was work- 
ing away with a great chisel at the bottom of a boy's 
sailing boat, the lines of which he was no doubt fashion- 
ing on the model of one of Nicias' galleys. Round him 
stood three or four children ; the candles burned brightly 
on a large table at the further end covered with books 
and papers, and a great fire threw a ruddy glow over the 
rest of the room. All looked so kindly, and homely, 
i8o 


Settling to the Collar 

and comfortable, that the boys took heart in a moment, 
and Tom advanced from behind the shelter of the great 
sofa. The Doctor nodded to the children, who went out, 
casting curious and amused glances at the three young 
scarecrows. 

“ Well, my little fellows,” began the Doctor, drawing 
himself up with his back to the fire, the chisel in one 
hand and his coat-tails in the other, and his eyes twink- 
ling as he looked them over ; “ what makes you so 
late ? ” 

Please, sir, weVe been out Big-side Hare-and- 
hounds, and lost our way.” 

‘‘ Hah ! you couldn’t keep up, I suppose ? ” 

‘‘ Well, sir,” said East, stepping out, and not liking 
that the Doctor should think lightly of his running 
powers, we got round Barby all right, but then ” 

“ Why, what a state you’re in, my boy !” interrupted 
the Doctor, as the pitiful condition of East’s garments 
was fully revealed to him. 

“ That’s the fall I got, sir, in the road,” said East, 
looking down at himself ; the Old Pig came by ” 

‘‘ The what ? ” said the Doctor. 

“ The Oxford coach, sir,” explained Hall. 

“ Hah ! yes, the Regulator,” said the Doctor. 

‘‘ And I tumbled on my face trying to get up be- 
hind,” went on East. 

‘^You’re not hurt, I hope?” said the Doctor. 

“ Oh no, sir.” 

“ Well now, run upstairs, all three of you, and get 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

clean things on, and then tell the housekeeper to give 
you some tea. You’re too young to try such long runs. 
Let Warner know IVe seen you. Good-night.” 

“ Good night, sir.” And away scuttled the three 
boys in high glee. 

What a brick, not to give us even twenty lines to 
learn ! ” said the Tadpole, as they reached their bedroom ; 
and in half an hour afterward they were sitting by the 
fire in the housekeeper’s room at a sumptuous tea, with 
cold meat, “ twice as good a grub as we should have got 
in the hall,” as the Tadpole remarked with a grin, his 
mouth full of buttered toast. All their grievances were 
forgotten, and they were resolving to go out the first Big- 
side next half, and thinking Hare-and-hounds the most 
delightful of games. 

A day or two afterward the great passage outside the 
bedrooms was cleared of the boxes and portmanteaus, 
which went down to be packed by the matron, and great 
games of chariot racing and cock fighting, and bolstering, 
went on in the vacant space, the sure sign of a closing 
half-year. 

Then came the making up of parties for the journey 
home, and Tom joined a party who were to hire a coach, 
and post with four horses to Oxford. 

Then the last Saturday, on which the Doctor came 
round to each form to give out the prizes, and hear the 
masters’ last reports of how they and their charges 
had been conducting themselves ; and Tom, to his 
huge delight, was praised, and got his remove into 
182 


Settling to the Collar 

the lower fourth, in which all his School-house friends 
were. 

On the next Tuesday morning, at four o'clock, hot 
coffee was going on in the housekeeper’s and matron’s 
rooms; boys wrapped in great-coats and mufflers were 
swallowing hasty mouthfuls, rushing about, tumbling 
over luggage, and asking questions all at once of the 
matron ; outside the School-gates were drawn up several 
chaises, and the four-horse coach which Tom’s party had 
chartered, the post-boys in their best jackets and breeches, 
and a cornopean player, hired for the occasion, blowing 
away A Southerly wind and a cloudy sky,” waking all 
peaceful inhabitants half-way down the High Street. 

Every minute the bustle and hubbub increased, por- 
ters staggered about with boxes and bags, the cornopean 
played louder. Old Thomas sat in his den with a great 
yellow bag by his side, out of which he was paying jour- 
ney money to each boy, comparing by the light of a 
solitary dip the dirty crabbed little list in his own hand- 
writing with the Doctor’s list, and the amount of his 
cash ; his head was on one side, his mouth screwed up, 
and his spectacles dim from early toil. He had prudently 
locked the door, and carried on his operations solely 
through the window, or he would have been driven wild, 
and lost all his money. 

“Thomas, do be quick, we shall never catch the 
Highflyer at Dunchurch.” 

“ That’s your money, all right. Green.” 

“ Hullo, Thomas, the Doctor said I was to have two- 

183 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

pound ten ; youVe only given me two pound.” — I fear 
that Master Green is not confining himself strictly to truth 
— Thomas turns his head more on one side than ever, 
and spells away at the dirty list. Green is forced away 
from the window. 

Here, Thomas, never mind him, mine’s thirty 
shillings.” “ And mine too,” ‘‘ And mine,” shouted 
others. 

One way or another, the party to which Tom belonged 
all got packed and paid, and sallied out to the gates, the 
cornopean playing frantically “ Drops of Brandy,” in al- 
lusion, probably, to the slight potations in which the 
musician and post-boys had been already indulging. All 
luggage was carefully stowed away inside the coach and in 
the front and hind boots, so that not a hat-box was visible 
outside. Five or six small boys, with pea-shooters, and 
the cornopean player, got up behind ; in front the big 
boys, mostly smoking, not for pleasure, but because they 
are now gentlemen at large — and this is the most correct 
public method of notifying the fact. 

‘‘ Robinson’s coach will be down the road in a minute, 
it has gone up to Bird’s to pick up — we’ll wait till they’re 
close, and make a race of it,” says the leader. ‘‘Now, 
boys, half a sovereign apiece if you beat ’em into Dun- 
church by one hundred yards.” 

“ All right, sir,” shouted the grinning post-boys. 

Down comes Robinson’s coach in a minute or two 
with a rival cornopean, and away go the two vehicles, 
horses galloping, boys cheering, horns playing loud. 

184 


Settling to the Collar 

There is a special Providence over school-boys as well as 
sailors, or they must have upset twenty times in the first 
five miles ; sometimes actually abreast of one another, and 
the boys on the roofs exchanging volleys of peas, now 
nearly running over a post-chaise which had started 
before them, now half-way up a bank, now with a wheel 
and a half over a yawning ditch ; and all this in a dark 
morning, with nothing but their own lamps to guide them. 
However, it’s all over at last, and they have run over 
nothing but an old pig in Southam Street ; the last peas 
are distributed in the Corn Market at Oxford, where they 
arrive between eleven and twelve, and sit down to a 
sumptuous breakfast at the Angel, which they are made to 
pay for accordingly. Here the party breaks up, all going 
now different ways ; and Tom orders out a chaise and 
pair as grand as a lord, though he has scarcely five shil- 
lings left in his pocket and more than twenty miles to get 
home. 

“ Where to, sir ? ” 

‘‘Red Lion, Farringdon,” says Tom, giving hostler a 
shilling. 

“All right, sir. Red Lion, Jem,” to the post-boy, 
and Tom rattles away toward home. At Farringdon, 
being known to the innkeeper, he gets that worthy to 
pay for the Oxford horses, and forward him in another 
chaise at once; and so the gorgeous young gentleman 
arrives at the paternal mansion, and Squire Brown looks 
rather blue at having to pay two pound ten shillings for 
the posting expenses from Oxford. But the boy’s in- 
185 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

tense joy at getting home, and the wonderful health he 
is in, and the good character he brings, and the brave 
stories he tells of Rugby, its doings and delights, soon 
mollify the Squire, and three happier people didn't sit 
down to dinner that day in England (it is the boy's first 
dinner at six o'clock at home, great promotion already), 
than the Squire and his wife and Tom Brown at the end 
of his first half-year at Rugby. 


CHAPTER VIII 


THE WAR OF INDEPENDENCE 

“ They are slaves who will not choose 
Hatred, scoffing, and abuse. 

Rather than in silence shrink 

From the truth they needs must think : 

They are slaves who dare not be 
In the right with two or three.” 

— Lowell, Stanzas on Freedom 

T he lower-fourth form, in which Tom found 
himself at the beginning of the next half-year, 
was the largest form in the lower school, and 
numbered upward of forty boys. Young gentlemen of 
all ages from nine to fifteen, were to be found there, who 
expended such part of their energies as was devoted to 
Latin and Greek upon a book of Livy, the Bucolics of 
Virgil, and the Hecuba of Euripides, which were ground 
out in small daily portions. The driving of this unlucky 
lower-fourth must have been grievous work to the unfor- 
tunate master, for it was the most unhappily constituted 
of any in the school. Here stuck the great stupid boys, 
who for the life of them could never master the acci- 
dence ; the objects alternately of mirth and terror to the 
youngsters, who were daily taking them up and laughing 
at them in lesson, and getting kicked by them for so 
doing in play-hours. There were no less than three 
unhappy fellows in tail coats, with incipient down on 
187 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

their chins, whom the Doctor and the master of the form 
were always endeavoring to hoist into the upper school, 
but whose parsing and construing resisted the most well- 
meant shoves. Then came the mass of the form, boys 
of eleven and twelve, the most mischievous and reckless 
age of British youth, of whom East and Tom Brown 
were fair specimens. As full of tricks as monkeys, and of 
excuses as Irish women, making fun of their master, one 
another, and their lessons, Argus himself would have 
been puzzled to keep an eye on them ; and as for making 
them steady or serious for half an hour together, it was 
simply hopeless. The remainder of the form consisted 
of young prodigies of nine and ten, who were going up 
the school at the rate of a form a half-year, all boys’ 
hands and wits being against them in their progress. It 
would have been one man’s work to see that the pre- 
cocious youngsters had fair play ; and as the master had 
a good deal besides to do, they hadn’t, and were forever 
being shoved down three or four places, their verses 
stolen, their books inked; their jackets whitened, and 
their lives otherwise made a burden to them. 

The lower-fourth, and all the forms below it, were 
heard in the great school, and were not trusted to prepare 
their lessons before coming in, but were whipped into 
school three-quarters of an hour before the lesson began 
by their respective masters, and there scattered about on 
the benches, with dictionary and grammar, hammered 
out their twenty lines of Virgil and Euripides in the 
midst of Babel. The masters of the lower school walked 

i88 


The War of Independence 

up and down the great school together during this three- 
quarters of an hour, or sat in their desks reading or 
looking over copies, and keeping such order as was 
possible. But the lower-fourth was just now an over- 
grown form, too large for any one man to attend 
to properly, and consequently the elysium or ideal 
form of the young scapegraces who formed the staple 
of it. 

Tom, as has been said, had come up from the third 
with a good character, but the temptations of the lower 
fourth soon proved too strong for him, and he rapidly 
fell away; and became as unmanageable as the rest. For 
some weeks, indeed, he succeeded in maintaining the 
appearance of steadiness, and was looked upon favorably 
by his new master, whose eyes were first opened by the 
following little incident. 

Besides the desk which the master himself occupied, 
there was another large unoccupied desk in the corner 
of the great school, which was untenanted. To rush 
and seize upon this desk, which was ascended by three 
steps, and held four boys, was the great object of ambi- 
tion of the lower fourthers ; and the contentions for the 
occupation of it bred such disorder, that at last the mas- 
ter forbade its use altogether. This of course was a 
challenge to the more adventurous spirits to occupy it, 
and as it was capacious enough for two boys to. lie hid 
there completely, it was seldom that it remained empty, 
notwithstanding the veto. Small holes were cut in the 
front, through which the occupants watched the masters 
189 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

as they walked up and down, and as lesson time ap- 
proached, one boy at a time stole out and down the 
steps, as the masters* backs were turned, and mingled 
with the crowd on the forms below. Tom and East had 
successfully occupied the desk some half-dozen times, 
and were grown so reckless that they were in the habit of 
playing small games with fives *-balls inside when the 
masters were at the other end of the big school. One 
day, as ill-luck would have it, the game became more 
exciting than usual, and the ball slipped through East*s . 
fingers, and rolled slowly down the steps, and out into 
the middle of the school, just as the masters turned in 
their walk and faced round upon the desk. The young 
delinquents watched their master through the look-out 
holes, march slowly down the school straight upon 
their retreat, while all the boys in the neighborhood of 
course stopped their work to look on : and not only were 
they ignominiously drawn out, and caned over the hand 
then and there, but their characters for steadiness were 
gone from that time. However, as they only shared the 
fate of some three-fourths of the rest of the form, this 
did not weigh heavily upon them. 

In fact, the only occasions on which they cared about 
the matter were the monthly examinations, when the 
Doctor came round to examine their form, for one long 
awful hour, in the work which they had done in the 
preceding month. The second monthly examination 
came round soon after Tom*s fall, and it was with any- 
thing but lively anticipations that he and the other lower- 
190 


The War of Independence 

fourth boys came in to prayers on the morning of the 
examination day. 

Prayers and calling-over seemed twice as short as 
usual, and before they could get construes of a tithe of 
the hard passages marked in the margin of their books, 
they were all seated round, and the Doctor was standing 
in the middle, talking in whispers to the master. Tom 
couldn't hear a word which passed, and never lifted his 
eyes from his book ; but he knew by a sort of magnetic 
instinct that the Doctor's under lip was coming out, and 
his eye beginning to burn, and his gown getting gathered 
up more and more tightly in his left hand. The sus- 
pense was agonizing, and Tom knew that he was sure on 
such occasions to make an example of the School-house 
boys. “ If he would only begin," thought Tom, “ I 
shouldn't mind." 

At last the whispering ceased, and the name which 
was called out was not Brown. He looked up for a 
moment, but the Doctor's face was too awful ; Tom 
wouldn't have met his eye for all he was worth, and 
buried himself in his book again. 

The boy who was called up first was a clever, merry 
School-house boy, one of their set: he was some connection 
of the Doctor's, and a great favorite, and ran in and out of 
his house as he liked, and so was selected for the first victim. 

“ Triste lupus, stabulis," began the luckless youngster, 
and stammered through some eight or ten lines. 

There, that will do," said the Doctor , ‘‘ now 
construe." 

191 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

On common occasions, the boy could have construed 
the passage well enough probably, but now his head was 
gone. 

“ Triste lupus, the sorrowful wolf,” he began. 

A shudder ran through the whole form, and the 
Doctor's wrath fairly boiled over ; he made three steps 
up to the construer, and gave him a good box on the 
ear. The blow was not a hard one, but the boy was so 
taken by surprise that he started back ; the form caught 
the back of his knees, and over he went on to the floor 
behind. There was a dead silence over the whole school ; 
never before, and never again while Tom was at school 
did the Doctor strike a boy in lesson. The provocation 
must have been great. However, the victim had saved 
his form for that occasion, for the Doctor turned to the 
top bench, and put on the best boys for the rest of the 
hour ; and though at the end of the lesson, he gave them 
all such a rating as they did not forget, this terrible field- 
day passed over without any severe visitations in the 
shape of punishments or floggings. Forty young scape- 
graces expressed their thanks to the “ sorrowful wolf” in 
their different ways before second lesson. 

But a character for steadiness once gone is not easily 
recovered, as Tom found, and for years afterward he 
went up to the school without it, and the masters' hands 
were against him, and his against them. And he re- 
garded them, as a matter of course, as his natural enemies. 
Matters were not so comfortable either in the house as 
they had been, for old Brooke left at Christmas, and one 
192 


The War of Independence 

or two others of the sixth-form boys at the following 
Easter. Their rule had been rough, but strong and just 
in the main, and a higher standard was beginning to be 
set up ; in fact, there had been a short foretaste of the 
good time which followed some years later. Just now, 
however, all threatened to return into darkness and chaos 
again. For the new praspostors were either small young 
boys, whose cleverness had carried them up to the top 
of the school, while in strength of body and character 
they were not yet fit for a share in the government ; or 
else big fellows of the wrong sort, boys whose friendships 
and tastes had a downward tendency, who had not caught 
the meaning of their position and work, and felt none of 
its responsibilities. So under this no-government the 
School-house began to see bad times. The big fifth- 
form boys, who were a sporting and drinking set, soon 
began to usurp power, and to fag the little boys as if 
they were praepostors, and to bully and oppress any who 
showed signs of resistance. The bigger sort of sixth- 
form boys just described soon made common cause with 
the fifth, while the smaller sort, hampered by their col- 
leagues’ desertion to the enemy, could not make head 
against them. So the fags were without their lawful mas- 
ters and protectors, and ridden over rough-shod by a set 
of boys whom they were not bound to obey, and whose 
only right over them stood in their bodily powers ; and, 
as old Brooke had prophesied, the house by degrees 
broke up into small sets and parties, and lost the strong 
feeling of fellowship which he set so much store by, and 

193 


Vol. 16— G 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

with it much of the prowess in games and the lead in all 
school matters which he had done so much to keep up. 

In no place in the world has individual character more 
weight than at a public school. Remember this, I be- 
seech you, all you boys who are getting into the upper 
forms. Now is the time in all your lives probably when 
you may have more wide influence for good or evil on 
the society you live in than you ever can have again. 
Quit yourselves like men, then ; speak up, and strike out 
if necessary for whatsoever is true, and manly, and lovely, 
and of good report ; never try to be popular, but only to 
do your duty and help others to do theirs, and you may 
leave the tone of feeling in the school higher than you 
found it, and so be doing good, which no living soul can 
measure, to generations of your countrymen yet unborn. 
For boys follow one another in herds like sheep, for good 
or evil ; they hate thinking, and have rarely any settled 
principles. Every school, indeed, has its own traditionary 
standard of right and wrong, which cannot be transgressed 
with impunity, making certain things as low and black- 
guard, and certain others as lawful and right. This stand- 
ard is ever varying, though it changes only slowly, and 
little by little ; and, subject only to such standard, it is 
the leading boys for the time being who give the tone to 
all the rest, and make the School either a noble institu- 
tion for the training of Christian Englishmen, or a place 
where a young boy will get more evil than he would if 
he were turned out to make his way in London streets, 
or anything between these two extremes. 

194 


The War of Independence 

The change for the worse in the School-house, how- 
ever, didn’t press very heavily on our youngsters for 
some time ; they were in a good bedroom, where slept 
the only praepostor left who was able to keep thorough 
order, and their study was in his passage; so, though 
they were fagged more or less, and occasionally kicked or 
cuffed by the bullies, they were on the whole well off ; 
and the fresh brave school-life, so full of games, adven- 
tures, and good-fellowship, so ready at forgetting, so 
capacious at enjoying, so bright at forecasting, outweighed 
a thousandfold their troubles with the master of their 
form, and the occasional ill-usage of the big boys in the 
house. 

It wasn’t till some year or so after the events 
recorded above, that the praepostor of their room and 
passage left. None of the other sixth-form boys would 
move into their passage, and, to the disgust and indigna- 
tion of Tom and East, one morning after breakfast they 
were seized upon by Flashman, and made to carry down 
his books and furniture into the unoccupied study which 
he had taken. From this time they began to feel the 
weight of the tyranny of Flashman and his friends, and, 
now that trouble had come home to their own doors, 
began to look out for sympathizers and partners among 
the rest of the fags ; and meetings of the oppressed be- 
gan to be held, and murmurs to arise, and plots to be 
laid as to how they should free themselves and be avenged 
on their enemies. 

While matters were in this state, East and Tom were 

195 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

one evening sitting in their study. They had done their 
work for first lesson, and Tom was in a brown study, 
brooding, like a young William Tell, upon the wrongs 
of fags in general, and his own in particular. 

‘‘ I say. Scud,*' said he at last, rousing himself to 
snuff the candle, ‘^what right have the fifth-form boys 
to fag us as they do ? ” 

‘‘No more right than you have to fag them,” an- 
swered East, without looking up from an early number 
of “ Pickwick,” which was just coming out, and which 
he was luxuriously devouring, stretched on his back on 
the sofa. 

Tom relapsed into his brown study, and East went on 
reading and chuckling. The contrast of the boys* faces 
would have given infinite amusement to a looker-on, the 
one so solemn and big with mighty purpose, the other 
radiant and bubbling over with fun. 

“ Do you know, old fellow, Pve been thinking it over 
a good deal,” began Tom again. 

“ Oh, yes, I know, fagging you are thinking of. Hang 
it all — but listen here, Tom — here's fun. Mr. Winkle's 
horse ” 

“ And I've made up my mind,” broke in Tom, “ that 
I won't fag except for the sixth.” 

“ Quite right too, my boy,” cried East, putting his 
finger on the place and looking up ; “ but a pretty peck 
of troubles you'll get into, if you're going to play that game. 
However, I'm all for a strike myself, if we can get others 
to join — it's getting too bad.” 

196 


The War of Independence 

Can’t we get some sixth-form fellow to take it up ?” 
asked Tom. 

‘‘Well, perhaps we might; Morgan would interfere, 
I think. Only,” added East after a moment’s pause, 
“ you see we should have to tell him about it, and that’s 
against school principles. Don’t you remember what Old 
Brooke said about learning to take our own parts ? ” 

“ Ah, I wish Old Brooke were back again — it was all 
right in his time.” 

“ Why yes, you see then the strongest and best fel- 
lows were in the sixth, and the fifth-form fellows were 
afraid of them, and they kept good order ; but now our 
sixth-form fellows are too small, and the fifth don’t care 
for them, and do what they like in the house.” 

“And so we get a double set of masters,” cried Tom, 
indignantly ; “ the lawful ones, who are responsible to the 
Doctor at any rate, and the unlawful — the tyrants, who 
are responsible to nobody.” 

“ Down with the tyrants ! ” cried East ; “I’m all for 
law and order, and hurra for a revolution.” 

“ I shouldn’t mind if it were only for young Brooke 
now,” said Tom, “he’s such a good-hearted, gentlemanly 
fellow, and ought to be in the sixth — I’d do anything for 
him. But that blackguard Flashman, who never speaks 
to one without a kick or an oath — ” 

“ The cowardly brute,” broke in East, “ how I hate 
him ! And he knows it too ; he knows that you and I 
think him a coward. What a bore that he’s got a study 
in this passage ! don’t you hear them now at supper in his 
197 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

den ? Brandy punch going, Fll bet. I wish the Doctor 
would come out and catch him. We must change our 
study as soon as we can.” 

“ Change or no change, Fll never fag for him again,” 
said Tom, thumping the table. 

‘‘ Fa-a-a-ag ! ” sounded along the passage from Flash- 
man's study. The two boys looked at one another in 
silence. It had struck nine, so the regular night- fags had 
left duty, and they were the nearest to the supper-party. 
East sat up and began to look comical, as he always did 
under difficulties. 

“ Fa-a-a-ag ! ” again. No answer. 

“ Here, Brown ! East ! you cursed young skulks,” 
roared out Flashman, coming to his open door, “ I know 
you're in — no shirking.” 

Tom stole to their door, and drew the bolts as noise- 
lessly as he could ; East blew out the candle. Barricade 
the first,” whispered he. Now, Tom, mind, no surren- 
der.” 

Trust me for that,” said Tom between his teeth. 

In another minute they heard the supper-party turn 
out and come down the passage to their door. They held 
their breaths, and heard whispering, of which they only 
made out Flashman's words, “ I know the young brutes 
are in.” 

Then came summonses to open, which being unan- 
swered, the assault commenced : luckily the door was a 
good strong oak one, and resisted the united weight of 
Flashman's party. A pause followed, and they heard a 


The War of Independence 

besieger remark, “ They’re in, safe enough — don’t you see 
how the door holds at top and bottom ? so the bolts must 
be drawn. We should have forced the lock long ago.” 
East gave Tom a nudge, to call attention to this scientific 
remark. 

Then came attacks on particular panels, one of which at 
last gave way to the repeated kicks ; but it broke inward, 
and the broken piece got jammed across, the door being 
lined with green baize, and couldn’t easily be removed 
from the outside ; and the besieged, scorning further con- 
cealment, strengthened their defences by pressing the end 
of their sofa against the door. So after one or two more 
ineffectual efforts, Flashman and Co. retired, vowing ven- 
geance in no mild terms. 

The first danger over, it only remained for the be- 
sieged to effect a safe retreat, as it was now near bedtime. 
They listened intently, and heard the supper-party resettle 
themselves, and then gently drew back first one bolt and 
then the other. Presently the convivial noises began again 
steadily. “Now, then, stand by for a run,” said East, 
throwing the door wide open and rushing into the passage, 
closely followed by Tom. They were too quick to be 
caught ; but Flashman was on the look-out, and sent an 
empty pickle-jar whizzing after them, which narrowly 
missed Tom’s head, and broke into twenty pieces at 
the end of the passage. “ He wouldn’t mind killing one 
if he, wasn’t caught,” said East, as they turned the corner. 

There was no pursuit, so the two turned into the Hall, 
where they found a knot of small boys around the fire. 

199 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

Their story was told — the war of independence had broken 
out — who would join the revolutionary forces ? Several 
others present bound themselves not to fag for the fifth- 
form at once. One or two only edged off, and left the 
rebels. What else could they do ? “ I’ve a good mind 

to go to the Doctor straight,” said Tom. 

“That’ll never do — don’t you remember the levy of 
the School last half ? ” put in another. 

In fact, that solemn assembly, a levy of the School, 
had been held,' at which the captain of the School had 
got up, and, after premising that several instances had 
occurred of matters having been reported to the masters, 
that this was against public morality and School tradition ; 
that a levy of the sixth had been held on the subject, and 
they had resolved that the practice must be stopped at 
once ; had given out that any boy, in whatever form, who 
should thenceforth appeal to a master, without having 
first gone to some praepostor and laid the case before him, 
should be thrashed publicly, and sent to Coventry. 

“Well, then, let’s try the sixth. Try Morgan,” sug- 
gested another. “ No use ” — “ Blabbing won’t do,” was 
the general feeling. 

“ I’ll give you fellows a piece of advice,” said a voice 
from the end of the Hall. They all turned round with a 
start, and the speaker got up from a bench on which he 
had been lying unobserved, and gave himself a shake ; he 
was a big, loose-made fellow, with huge limbs which had 
grown too far through his jacket and trousers. “ Don’t 
you go to anybody at all — you just stand out ; say you 
200 


The War of Independence 

won’t fag — they’ll soon get tired of licking you. I’ve 
tried it on years ago with their fore-runners.” 

“ No ! did you ? tell us how it was,” cried a chorus of 
voices, as they clustered round him. 

‘‘Well, just as it is with you. The fifth-form would 
fag us, and I and some more struck, and we beat ’em. 
The good fellows left off directly, and the bullies who kept 
on soon got afraid.” 

“ Was Flashman here then ? ” 

“ Yes ! and a dirty little snivelling, sneaking fellow he 
was too. He never dared join us, and used to toady 
the bullies by offering to fag for them, and peaching against 
the rest of us.” 

“ Why wasn’t he cut then ? ” said East. 

“ Oh, toadies never get cut, they’re* too useful. Be- 
sides, he has no end of great hampers from home, with 
wine and game in them ; so he toadied and fed himself 
into favor.” 

The quarter-to-ten bell now rang, and the small boys 
went off upstairs, still consulting together, and praising 
their new counsellor, who stretched himself out on the 
bench before the Hall fire again. There he lay, a very 
queer specimen of boyhood, by name Diggs, and familiarly 
called “ the Mucker.” He was young for his size, and a 
very clever fellow, nearly at the top of the fifth. His 
friends at home, having regard, I suppose, to his age, and 
not to his size and place in the school, hadn’t put him 
into tails ; and even his jackets were always too small ; 
and he had a talent for destroying clothes, and making 
201 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

himself look shabby. He wasn’t on terms with Flash- 
man’s set, who sneered at his dress and ways behind his 
back, which he knew, and revenged himself by asking 
Flashman the most disagreeable questions and treating 
him familiarly whenever a crowd of boys were round him. 
Neither was he intimate with any of the other bigger boys, 
who were warned off by his oddness, for he was a very 
queer fellow ; besides, among other failings, he had that 
of impecuniosity in a remarkable degree. He brought 
as much money as other boys to school, but got rid of it 
in no time, no one knew how. And then, being also 
reckless, borrowed from any one, and when his debts ac- 
cumulated and creditors pressed, would have an auction 
in the Hall of everything he possessed in the world, selling 
even his school-books, candlestick, and study table. For 
weeks after one of these auctions, having rendered his 
study uninhabitable, he would live about in the fifth- 
form room and Hall, doing his verses on old letter-backs 
and odd scraps of paper, and learning his lessons no one 
knew how. He never meddled with any little boy, and 
was popular with them, though they all looked on him 
with a sort of compassion, and called him ‘‘ poor Diggs,” 
not being able to resist appearances, or to disregard wholly 
even the sneers of their enemy Flashman. However, he 
seemed equally indififerent to the sneers of big boys and 
the pity of small ones, and lived his own queer life with 
much apparent enjoyment to himself. It is necessary to 
introduce Diggs thus particularly, as he not only did Tom 
and East good service in their present warfare, as is about 
202 


The War of Independence 

to be told, but soon afterward, when he got into the sixth, 
chose them for his fags, and excused them from study-fag- 
ging, thereby earning unto himself eternal gratitude from 
them, and all who are interested in their history. 

And seldom had small boys more need of a friend, 
for the morning after the siege the storm burst upon the 
rebels in all its violence. Flashman laid wait, and caught 
Tom before second lesson, and receiving a point blank 
“No,” when told to fetch his hat, seized him and twisted 
his arm, and went through the other methods of torture 
in use — “ He couldn't make me cry though,” as Tom 
said triumphantly to the rest of the rebels, “ and I kicked 
his shins well, I know.” And soon it crept out that a 
lot of the fags were in league, and Flashman excited his 
associates to join him in bringing the young vagabonds 
to their senses ; and the house was filled with constant 
chasings, and sieges, and lickings of all sorts ; and in re- 
turn, the bullies’ beds were pulled to pieces, and drenched 
with water, and their names written up on the walls with 
every insulting epithet which the fag invention could fur- 
nish. The war in short raged fiercely; but soon, as 
Diggs had told them, all the better fellows in the fifth 
gave up trying to fag them, and public feeling began to 
set against Flashman and his two or three intimates, and 
they were obliged to keep their doings more secret, but 
being thorough bad fellows, missed no opportunity of 
torturing in private. Flashman was an adept in all ways, 
but above all in the power of saying cutting and cruel 
things, and could often bring tears to the eyes of boys in 
203 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

this way, which all the thrashings in the world wouldn't 
have wrung from them. 

And as his operations were being cut short in other 
directions, he now devoted himself chiefly to Tom and 
East, who lived at his own door, and would force him- 
self into their study whenever he found a chance, and sit 
there, sometimes alone, sometimes with a companion, 
interrupting all their work, and exulting in the evident 
pain which every now and then he could see he was 
inflicting on one or the other. 

The storm had cleared the air for the rest of the 
house, and a better state of things now began than there 
had been since old Brooke had left ; but an angry dark 
spot of thunder-cloud still hung over the end of the 
passage, where Flashman’s study and that of East and 
Tom lay. 

He felt that they had been the first rebels, and that 
the rebellion had been to a great extent successful ; but 
what above all stirred the hatred and bitterness of his 
heart against them, was that in the frequent collisions 
which there had been of late, they had openly called him 
coward and sneak — the taunts were too true to be for- 
given. While he was in the act of thrashing them, they 
would roar out instances of his funking at football, or 
shirking some encounter with a lout of half his own size. 
These things were all well enough known in the house, 
but to have his disgrace shouted out by small boys, to 
feel that they despised him, to be unable to silence them 
by any amount of torture, and to see the open laugh and 
204 


The War of Independence 

sneer of his own associates (who were looking on and 
took no trouble to hide their scorn from him, though 
they neither interfered with his bullying nor lived a bit 
the less intimately with him), made him beside himself. 
Come what might he would make those boys' lives mis- 
erable. So the strife settled down into a personal affair 
between Flashman and our youngsters ; a war to the 
knife, to be fought out in the little cockpit at the end of 
the bottom passage. 

Flashman, be it said, was about seventeen years old, 
and big and strong of his age. He played well at all 
games where pluck wasn't much wanted, and managed 
generally to keep up appearances where it was ; and hav- 
ing a bluff off-hand manner, which passed for heartiness, 
and considerable powers of being pleasant when he liked, 
went down with the School in general for a good fellow 
enough. Even in the School-house, by dint of his com- 
mand of money, the constant supply of good things which 
he kept up, and his adroit toadyism, he had managed 
to make himself not only tolerated, but rather popular 
among his own contemporaries ; although young Brooke 
scarcely spoke to him, and one or two others of the right 
sort showed their opinions of him whenever a chance 
offered. But the wrong sort happened to be in the 
ascendent just now, so Flashman was a formidable enemy 
for small boys. This soon became plain enough. Flash- 
man left no slander unspoken, and no deed undone, 
which could in any way hurt his victims, or isolate them 
from the rest of the house. One by one most of the 
205 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

Other rebels fell away from them, while Flashman’s cause 
prospered, and several other fifth-form boys began to look 
black at them and ill-treat them as they passed about the 
house. By keeping out of bounds, or at all events out 
of the house and quadrangle, all day, and carefully bar- 
ring themselves in at night. East and Tom managed to 
hold on without feeling very miserable ; but it was as 
much as they could do. Greatly were they drawn the 
toward old Diggs, who, in an uncouth way, began t 
take a good deal of notice of them, and once or twicp 
came to their study when Flashman was there, who in^- 
mediately decamped in consequence. The boys thougfit 
that Diggs must have been watching. 

When therefore, about this time, an auction was one 
night announced to take place in the Hall, at which, 
among the superfluities of other boys, all Diggs' Penates 
for the time being were going to the hammer. East and 
Tom laid their heads together, and resolved to devote 
their ready cash (some four shillings sterling) to redeem 
such articles as that sum would cover. Accordingly, they 
duly attended to bid, and Tom became the owner of two 
lots of Diggs' things: Lot i, price one and threepence, 
consisting (as the auctioneer remarked) of a ‘‘valuable 
assortment of old metals," in the shape of a mouse-trap, 
a cheese-toaster without a handle, and a saucepan ; lot 
2, of a villanous dirty table-cloth and a green-baize cur- 
tain ; while East for one and sixpence purchased a leather 
paper case, with a lock but no key, once handsome, but 
now much the worse for wear. But they had still the 
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The War of Independence 

point to settle of how to get Diggs to take the things 
without hurting his feelings. This they solved by leav- 
ing them in his study, which was never locked when he 
was out. Diggs, who had attended the auction, remem- 
bered who had bought the lots, and came to their study 
soon after, and sat silent for some time, cracking his great 
red finger joints. Then he laid hold of their verses, and 
3egan looking over and altering them, and at last got up, 
ind turning his back to them, said, “You’re uncommon 
good-hearted little beggars, you two — I value that paper 
cise ; my sister gave it me last holidays — I won’t forget ” ; 
and so tumbled out into the passage, leaving them some- 
what embarrassed, but not sorry that he knew what they 
had done. 

The next morning was Saturday, the day on which 
the allowances of one shilling a week were paid, an im- 
portant event to spendthrift youngsters ; and great was 
the disgust among the small fry to hear that all the 
allowances had been impounded for the Derby lottery. 
That great event in the English year, the Derby, was 
celebrated at Rugby in those days by many lotteries. It 
was not an improving custom, I own, gentle reader, and 
led to making books and betting and other objectionable 
results ; but when our great Houses of Palaver think it 
right to stop the nation’s business on that day, and many 
of the members bet heavily themselves, can you blame us 
boys for following the example of our betters ? — at any 
rate we did follow it. First there was the great School 
lottery, where the first prize was six or seven pounds ; 

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Tom Brown’s School Days 

then each House had one or more separate lotteries. 
These were all nominally voluntary, no boy being com- 
pelled to put in his shilling who didn’t choose to do so : 
but besides Flashman, there were three or four other fast 
sporting young gentlemen in the School-house, who con- 
sidered subscription a matter of duty and necessity, and' 
so, to make their duty come easy to the small boys,' 
quietly secured the allowances in a lump when given outi 
for distribution, and kept them. It was no use grumbling, 
— so many fewer tartlets and apples were eaten and fives’- 
balls bought on that Saturday ; and after locking-up, 
when the money would otherwise have been spent, con- 
solation was carried to many a small boy, by the sound of 
the night-fags shouting along the passages, ‘‘ Gentlemen 
sportsmen of the School-house, the lottery’s going to be 
drawn in the Hall.” It was pleasant to be called a 
gentleman sportsman — also to have a chance of drawing 
a favorite horse. 

The Hall was full of boys, and at the head of one of 
the long tables stood the sporting interest, with a hat 
before them, in which were the tickets folded up. One 
of them then began calling out the list of the House ; each 
boy as his name was called drew a ticket from the ^ hat and 
opened it ; and most of the bigger boys, after drawing, 
left the Hall directly to go back to their studies or the 
fifth-form room. The sporting interest had all drawn 
blanks, and they were sulky accordingly ; neither of the 
favorites had yet been drawn, and it had come down to 
the upper-fourth. So now, as each small boy came up 
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The War of Independence 

and drew his ticket, it was seized and opened by Flash- 
man, or some other of the standers-by. But no great 
favorite is drawn until it comes to the Tadpole’s turn, 
and he shuffles up and draws, and tries to make off, but 
is caught, and his ticket is opened like the rest. 

‘‘Here you are! Wanderer! the third favorite,” 
shouts the opener. 

“ I say, just give me my ticket, please,” remonstrates 
Tadpole. 

“ Hullo, don’t be in a hurry,” breaks in Flashman ; 
“what’ll you sell Wanderer for, now?” 

“ I don’t want to sell,” rejoins Tadpole. 

“ Oh, don’t you ! Now listen, you young fool — you 
don’t know anything about it ; the horse is no use to you. 
He won’t win, but I want him as a hedge. Now I’ll give 
you half a crown for him.” Tadpole holds out, but be- 
tween threats and cajoleries at length sells half for one 
shilling and sixpence, about a fifth of its fair market value ; 
however, he is glad to realize anything, and as he wisely 
remarks, “ Wanderer mayn’t win, and the tizzy is safe 
anyhow.” 

East presently comes up and draws a blank. Soon 
after comes Tom’s turn ; his ticket, like the others, is 
seized and opened. “ Here you are then,” shouts the 
opener, holding it up, “ Harkaway ! By jove, Flashey, 
your young friend’s in luck.” 

“ Give me the ticket,” says Flashman with an oath, 
leaning across the table with open hand, and his face black 
with rage. 


209 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

“ Wouldn’t you like it ? ” replies the opener, not a bad 
fellow at the bottom, and no admirer of Flashman’s. 
‘‘ Here, Brown, catch hold,” and he hands the ticket to 
Tom, who pockets it ; whereupon Flashman makes for the 
door at once, that Tom and the ticket may not escape, and 
there keeps watch until the drawing is over and all the boys 
are gone, except the sporting set of five or six, who stay 
to compare books, make bets and so on, Tom, who doesn’t 
choose to move while Flashman is at the door, and East, 
who stays by his friend, anticipating trouble. 

The sporting set now gathered round Tom. Public 
opinion wouldn’t allow them actually to rob him of his 
ticket, but any humbug or intimidation by which he could 
be driven to sell the whole or part at an under-value was 
lawful. 

“ Now, young Brown, come, what’ll you sell me Hark- 
away for? I hear he isn’t going to start: I’ll give you 
five shillings for him,” begins the boy who had opened the 
ticket. Tom, remembering his good deed, and moreover 
in his forlorn state wishing to make a friend, is about to 
accept the offer, when another cries out, “ I’ll give you 
seven shillings.” Tom hesitated, and looked from one 
to the other. 

‘‘ No, no ! ” said Flashman, pushing in, ‘‘ leave me to 
deal with him ; we’ll draw lots for it afterward. Now, sir, 
you know me — you’ll sell Harkaway to us for five shillings, 
or you’ 11 repent it.” 

I won’t sell a bit of him,” answered Tom shortly. 

You hear that now ! ” said Flashman, turning to the 
210 


The War of Independence 

Others. “ He’s the coxiest young blackguard in the house 
— I always told you so. We’re to have all the trouble and 
risk of getting up the lotteries for the benefit of such fel- 
lows as he.” 

Flashman forgets to explain what risk they ran, but 
he speaks to willing ears. Gambling makes boys selfish 
and cruel as well as men. 

‘‘That’s true — we always draw blanks,” cried one. 
“ Now, sir, you shall sell half, at any rate.” 

“ I won’t,” said Tom, flushing up to his hair, and 
lumping them all in his mind with his sworn enemy. 

“ Very well then, let’s roast him,” cried Flashman, and 
catches hold of Tom by the collar : one or two boys hesi- 
tate, but the rest join in. East seizes Tom’s arm and tries 
to pull him away, but is knocked back by one of the boys, 
and Tom is dragged along, struggling. His shoulders are 
pushed against the mantelpiece, and he is held by main 
force before the fire, Flashman drawing his trousers tight 
by way of extra torture. Poor East, in more pain even 
than Tom, suddenly thinks of Diggs, and darts off to find 
him. “ Will you sell him for ten shillings ? ” says one boy 
who is relenting. 

Tom only answers by groans and struggles. 

“ I say, Flashey, he has had enough,” says the same 
boy, dropping the arm he holds. 

“ No, no ; another turn’ll do it,” answers Flashman. 
But poor Tom is done already, turns deadly pale, and his 
head falls forward on his breast, just as Diggs, in frantic 
excitement, rushes into the Hall with East at his heels. 

211 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

‘^You cowardly brutes T' is all he can say, as he 
catches Tom from them and supports him to the Hall 
table. Good God ! he’s dying. Here, get some cold 
water — run for the housekeeper.” 

Flashman and one or two others slink away ; the rest, 
ashamed and sorry, bend over Tom or run for water, while 
East darts off for the housekeeper. W ater comes, and they 
throw it on his hands and face, and he begins to come to. 

Mother!” — the words came feebly and slowly — it’s very 
cold to-night.” Poor old Diggs is blubbering like a child. 
“ Where am I ? ” goes on Tom, opening his eyes. “Ah 1 I 
remember nov/,” and he shut his eyes again and groaned. 

“ I say,” is whispered, “ we can’t do any good, and 
the housekeeper will be here in a minute,” and all but one 
steal away ; he stays with Diggs, silent and sorrowful, and 
fans Tom’s face. 

The housekeeper comes in with strong salts, and 
Tom soon recovers enough to sit up. There is a smell 
of burning ; she examines his clothes, and looks up 
inquiringly. The boys are silent. 

“ How did he come so ? ” No answer. 

“ There’s been some bad work here,” she adds, looking 
very serious, “ and I shall speak to the Doctor about it.” 
Still no answer. 

“ Hadn’t we better cafry him to the sick-room ? ” 
suggests Diggs. 

“ Oh, I can walk now,” says Tom ; and, supported 
by East and the housekeeper, goes to the sick-room. 
The boy who held his ground is soon among the rest, 
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The War of Independence 

who are all in fear of their lives. “ Did he peach ? ” 
“ Does she know about it ? 

‘‘Not a word — he’s a stanch little fellow.” And 
pausing a moment he adds, “I’m sick of this work: 
what brutes we’ve been ! ” 

Meantime Tom is stretched on the sofa in the house- 
keeper’s room, with East by his side, while she gets wine 
and water and other restoratives. 

“ Are you much hurt, dear old boy ? ” whispers East. 

“ Only the back of my legs,” answers Tom. They 
are indeed badly scorched, and part of his trousers burnt 
through. But soon he is in bed with cold bandages. 
At first he feels broken, and thinks of writing home and 
getting taken away ; and the verse of a hymn he had 
learned years ago sings through his head, and he goes to 
sleep, murmuring — 

“ Where the wicked cease from troubling, 

And the weary are at rest.” 

But after a sound night’s rest the old boy-spirit comes 
back again. East comes in reporting that the whole 
House is with him, and he forgets everything except their 
old resolve, never to be beaten by that bully Flashman. 

Not a word could the housekeeper extract from either 
of them, and though the Doctor knew all that she knew 
that morning, he never knew, any more. 

I trust and believe that such scenes are not possible 
now at school, and that lotteries and betting-books have 
gone out ; but I am writing of schools as they were in 
our time, and must give the evil with the good. 

213 


CHAPTER IX 


A CHAPTER OF ACCIDENTS 

“ Wherein I [speakj of most disastrous chances, 

Of moving accidents by flood and field, 

Of hairbreadth ’scapes .” — Shakespeare 

W HEN Tom came back into school after a 
couple of days in the sick-room, he found 
matters much changed for the better, as East 
had led him to expect. Flashman’s brutality had dis- 
gusted most even of his intimate friends, and his coward- 
ice had once more been made plain to the House ; for 
Diggs had encountered him on the morning after the 
lottery, and after high words on both sides had struck 
him, and the blow was not returned. However, Flashey 
was not unused to this sort of thing, and had lived 
through as awkward affairs before, and, as Diggs had said, 
fed and toadied himself back into favor again. Two or 
three of the boys who had helped to roast Tom came up 
and begged his pardon, and thanked him for not telling 
anything. Morgan sent for him, and was inclined to take 
the matter up warmly, but Tom begged him not to do 
it; to which he agreed, on Tom’s promising to come to 
him at once in future — a promise which I regret to say he 
didn’t keep. Tom kept Harkaway all to himself, and 
won the second prize in the lottery, some thirty shillings, 

214 


A Chapter of Accidents 

which he and East contrived to spend in about three 
days, in the purchase of pictures for their study, two new 
bats and a cricket-ball, all the best that could be got, and 
a supper of sausages, kidneys, and beefsteak pies to ah 
the rebels. Light come, light go ; they wouldn’t have 
been comfortable with money in their pockets in the 
middle of the half. 

The embers of Flashman’s wrath, however, were still 
smouldering, and burst out every now and then in sly 
blows and taunts, and they both felt that they hadn’t quite 
done with him yet. It wasn’t long, however, before the 
last act of that drama came, and with it, the end of bully- 
ing for Tom and East at Rugby. They now often stole 
out into the Hall at nights, incited thereto, partly by the 
hope of finding Diggs there and having a talk with him, 
partly by the excitement of doing something which was 
against rules ; for, sad to say, both of our youngsters, since 
their loss of character for steadiness in their form, had got 
into the habit of doing things which were forbidden, as a 
matter of adventure ; just in the same way, I should 
fancy, as men fall into smuggling, and for the same sort 
of reasons. Thoughtlessness in the first place. It never 
occurred to them to consider why such and such rules 
were laid down ; the reason was nothing to them ; and 
they only looked upon rules as a sort of challenge from 
the rule-makers, which it would be rather bad pluck in 
them not to accept ; and then again, in the lower parts 
of the school they hadn’t enough to do. The work of 
the form they could manage to get through pretty easily, 
215 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

keeping a good enough place to get their regular yearly 
remove ; and not having much ambition beyond this, 
their whole superfluous steam was available for games and 
scrapes. Now, one rule of the House which it was a 
daily pleasure of all such boys to break, was that after 
supper all fags, except the three on duty in the passages, 
should remain in their own studies until nine o'clock ; 
and if caught about the passages or Hall, or in one 
another's studies, they were liable to punishments or 
caning. The rule was stricter than its observance ; for 
most of the sixth spent their evenings in the fifth-form 
room, where the library was, and the lessons were learnt 
in common. Every now and then, however, a praepostor 
would be seized with a fit of district visiting, and would 
make a tour of the passages and Hall and the fags' 
studies. Then, if the owner were entertaining a friend 
or two, the first kick at the door and ominous ‘‘ Open 
here," had the effect of the shadow of a hawk over a 
chicken-yard ; every one cut to cover — one small boy 
diving under the sofa, another under the table, while the 
owner would hastily pull down a book or two and open 
them, and cry out in a meek voice, “ Hullo, who's 
there ? " casting an anxious eye round to see that no pro- 
truding leg or elbow could betray the hidden boys. 

Open, sir, directly ; it’s Snooks.” ‘‘ Oh, I’m very 
sorry ; I didn't know it was you, Snooks " ; and then, 
with well-feigned zeal, the door would be opened, young 
hopeful praying that that beast Snooks mightn't have 
heard the scuffle caused by his coming. If a study was 
216 


A Chapter of Accidents 

empty, Snooks proceeded' to draw the passages and Hall^ 
to find the truants. 

Well, one evening, in forbidden hours, Tom and 
East were in the Hall. They occupied the seats before 
the fire nearest the door, while Diggs sprawled as usual 
before the further fire. He was busy with a copy of 
verses, and East and Tom were chatting together in 
whispers by the light of the fire, and splicing a favorite 
old fives'-bat which had sprung. Presently a step came 
down the bottom passage ; they listened a moment, 
assured themselves that it wasn't a praepostor, and then 
went on with their work, and the door swung open, and 
in walked Flashman. He didn't see Diggs, and thought 
it a good chance to keep his hand in ; and as the boys 
didn't move for him, struck one of them, to make them 
get out of his way. 

‘‘ What's that for " growled the assaulted one. 

‘‘ Because I choose. You've no business here ; go to 
your study." 

“You can't send us." 

“Can't I? Then I'll thrash you if you stay^" said 
Flashman, savagely. 

“ I say, you two," said Diggs, from the end of the 
Hall, rousing up and resting himself on his elbow, “you'll 
never get rid of that fellow till you lick him. Go in at 
him, both of you — I’ll see fair play." 

Flashman was taken aback, and retreated two steps. 
East looked at Tom. “ Shall we try ? " said he. “Yes," 
said Tom, desperately. So the two advanced on Flash- 
217 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

man, with clenched fists and beating hearts. They were 
about up to his shoulder, but tough boys of their age, 
and in perfect training : while he, though strong and big, 
was in poor condition, from his monstrous habits of 
stuffing and want of exercise. Coward as he was, how- 
ever, Flashman couldn’t swallow such an insult as this ; 
besides, he was confident of having easy work, and so 
faced the boys, saying, ‘‘You impudent young black- 
guards ! ” — Before he could finish his abuse they rushed 
in on him, and began pummelling at all of him which 
they could reach. He hit out wildly and savagely, but 
the full force of his blows didn’t tell, they were too near 
him. It was long odds, though, in point of strength, and 
in another minute Tom went spinning backward over a 
form, and Flashman turned to demolish East, with a 
savage grin. But now Diggs jumped down from the 
table on which he had seated himself. “ Stop there,” 
shouted he ; “ the round’s over — half-minute time 

allowed.” 

“What the is it to you?” faltered Flashman, 

who began to lose heart. 

“ I’m going to see fair, I tell you,” said Diggs with a 
grin, and snapping his great red fingers ; “ tain’t fair for 
you to be fighting one of them at a time. Are you ready. 
Brown ? Time’s up.” 

The small boys rushed in again. Closing they saw 
was their best chance, and Flashman was wilder and 
more flurried than ever : he caught East by the throat, 
and tried to force him back on the iron-bound table; 

218 


A Chapter of Accidents 

Tom grasped his waist, and, remembering the old throw 
he had learned in the Vale from Harry Winburn, crooked 
his leg inside Flashman’s, and threw his whole weight 
forward. The three tottered for a moment, and then 
over they went on to the floor, Flashman striking his 
head against a form in the Hall. 

The two youngsters sprang to their legs, but he lay 
there still. They began to be frightened. Tom stooped 
down, and then cried out, scared out of his wits : ‘‘ He’s 
bleeding awfully ; come here. East, Diggs — he’s dying ! ” 

‘‘Not he,” said Diggs, getting leisurely off the table; 
“ it’s all sham — he’s only afraid to fight it out.” 

East was as frightened as Tom. Diggs lifted Flash- 
man’s head, and he groaned. 

“ What’s the matter ? ” shouted Diggs. 

“ My skull’s fractured,” sobbed Flashman. 

“Oh, let me run for the housekeeper,” cried Tom, 
“ What shall we do ? ” 

“ Fiddlesticks ! it’s nothing but the skin broken,” 
said the relentless Diggs, feeling his head. “ Cold water 
and a bit of rag’s all he’ll want.” 

“ Let me go,” said Flashman, surlily, sitting up ; “I 
don’t want your help.” 

“ We’re really very sorry,” began East. 

“ Hang your sorrow,” answered Flashman, holding his 
handkerchief to the place ; “ you shall pay for this, I can 
tell you, both of you.” And he walked out of the Hall. 

“ He can’t be very bad,” said Tom with a deep sigh, 
much relieved to see his enemy march so well. 

2 19 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

Not he/' said Diggs, “ and you’ll see you won’t be 
troubled with him any more. But, I say, your head’s 
broken too — your collar is covered with blood.” 

“Is it, though ? ” said Tom, putting up his hand; 
“ I didn’t know it.” 

“ Well, mop it up, or you’ll have your jacket spoiled. 
And you have got a nasty eye. Scud ; you’d better go 
and bathe it well in cold water.” 

“ Cheap enough, too, if we’ve done with our old 
friend Flashey,” said East, as they made off upstairs to 
bathe their wounds. 

They had done with Flashman in one sense, for he 
never laid finger on either of them again ; but whatever 
harm a spiteful heart and venomous tongue could do 
them he took care should be done. Only throw dirt 
enough, and some of it is sure to stick ; and so it was 
with the fifth form and the bigger boys in general, with 
whom he associated more or less, and they not at all. 
Flashman managed to get Tom and East into disfavor, 
which did not wear off for some time after the author of 
it had disappeared from the School world. This event, 
much prayed for by the small fry in general, took place 
a few months after the above encounter. One fine 
summer evening Flashman had been regaling himself on 
gin-punch, at Brownsover ; and having exceeded his 
usual limits, started home uproarious. He fell in with a 
friend or two coming back from bathing, proposed a 
glass of beer, to which they assented, the weather being 
hot, and they thirsty souls, and unaware of the quantity 
220 


A Chapter of Accidents 

of drink which Flashman had already on board. The 
short result was, that Flashey became beastly drunk ; 
they tried to get him along, but couldn’t; so they 
chartered a hurdle and two men to carry him. One of 
the masters came upon them, and they naturally enough 
fled. The flight of the rest raised the master’s suspi- 
cions, and the good angel of the fags incited him to 
examine the freight, and, after examination, to convoy 
the hurdle himself up to the School-house ; and the 
Doctor, who had long had his eye on Flashman, arranged 
for his withdrawal next morning. 

The evil that men, and boys too, do, lives after 
them : Flashman was gone, but our boys, as hinted 
above, still felt the effects of his hate. Besides, they had 
been the movers of the strike against unlawful fagging. 
The cause was righteous — the result had been triumphant 
to a great extent ; but the best of the fifth, even those 
who had never fagged the small boys, or had given up 
the practice cheerfully, couldn’t help feeling a small 
grudge against the first rebels. After all, their form had 
been defied — on just grounds, no doubt ; so just, indeed, 
that they had at once acknowledged the wrong and 
remained passive in the strife : had they sided with 
Flashman and his set, the rebels must have given way 
at once. They couldn’t help, on the whole, being glad 
that they had so acted, and that the resistance had been 
successful against such of their own form as had shown 
fight ; they felt that law and order had gained thereby, 
but the ringleaders they couldn’t quite pardon at once. 

221 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

‘‘ Confoundedly coxy those young rascals will get, if we 
don't mind," was the general feeling. 

So it is, and must be always, my dear boys. If the 
Angel Gabriel were to come down from heaven, and head 
a successful rise against the most abominable and unright- 
eous vested interest, which this poor old world groans un- 
der, he would most certainly lose his character for many 
years, probably for centuries, not only with upholders of 
said vested interest, but with the respectable mass of the 
people whom he had delivered. They wouldn’t ask him to 
dinner, or let their names appear with his in the papers ; 
they would be very careful how they spoke of him in the 
Palaver, or at their clubs. What can we expect, then, when 
we have only poor, gallant, blundering men like Kossuth, 
Garibaldi, Mazzini, and righteous causes which do not tri - 
umph in their hands ; men who have holes enough in 
their armor, God knows, easy to be hit by respectabilities 
sitting in their lounging chairs, and having large balances 
at their bankers ? But you are brave, gallant boys, who 
hate easy-chairs, and have no balances or bankers. You 
only want to have your heads set straight to take the right 
side : so bear in mind that majorities, especially respecta- 
ble ones, are nine times out of ten in the wrong ; and that 
if you see a man or boy striving earnestly on the weak 
side, however wrong-headed or blundering he may be, you 
are not to go and join the cry against him. If you can’t 
join him and help him, and make him wiser, at any rate 
remember that he has found something in the world which 
he will fight and suffer for, which is just what you have 
222 


A Chapter of Accidents 

got to do for yourselves ; and so think and speak of him 
tenderly. 

So East and Tom, the Tadpole, and one or two more, 
became a sort of young Ishmaelites, their hands against 
every one, and every one*s hand against them. It has 
been already told how they got to war with the masters 
and the fifth form, and with the sixth it was much the 
same. They saw the praepostors cowed by or joining with 
the fifth, and shirking their own duties ; so they didn’t 
respect them, and rendered no willing obedience. It had 
been one thing to clean out studies for sons of heroes like 
old Brooke, but quite another to do the like for Snooks 
and Green, who had never faced a good scrimmage at foot- 
ball, and couldn’t keep the passages in order at night. So 
they only slurred through their fagging just well enough 
to escape a licking, and not always that, and got the char- 
acter of sulky, unwilling fags. In the fifth-form room, 
after supper, when such matters were often discussed and 
arranged, their names were for ever coming up. 

I say. Green,” Snooks began one night, “isn’t that 
new boy, Harrison, your fag?” 

“ Yes ; why ? ” 

“ Oh, I know something of him at home, and should 
like to excuse him — will you swop ? ” 

“ Who will you give me ? ” 

“Well, let’s see; there’s Willis Johnson — No, that 
won’t do. Yes, I have it — there’s young East, I’ll give 
you him.” 

“Don’t you wish you may get it?” replied Green. 

223 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

ril tell you what I’ll do — I’ll give you two for Willis, if 
you like.” 

Who then ? ” asks Snooks. 

Hall and Brown.” 

“Wouldn’t have ’em at a gift.” 

“ Better than East, though ; for they ain’t quite so 
sharp,” said Green, getting up and leaning his back against 
the mantelpiece — he wasn’t a bad fellow, and couldn’t help 
not being able to put down the unruly fifth form. His 
eyes twinkled as he went on, “ Did I ever tell you how 
the young vagabond sold me last half? ” 

“ No ; how ? ” 

“Well, he never half cleaned my study out, only just 
stuck the candlesticks in the cupboard, and swept the 
crumbs on to the floor. So at last I was mortal angry, and 
had him up, made him go through the whole performance 
under my eyes : the dust the young scamp made nearly 
choked me, and showed that he hadn’t swept the carpet 
before. Well, when it was all finished, ‘ Now, young 
gentleman,’ says I, ^ mind, I expect this to be done every 
morning, floor swept, table-cloth taken oflF and shaken, 
and everything dusted.’ Wery well,’ grunts he. Not a bit 
of it though — I was quite sure in a day or two that he 
never took the table-cloth oflF even. So I laid a trap for 
him : I tore up some paper and put half a dozen bits on 
my table one night, and the cloth over them as usual. 
Next morning, after breakfast, up I came, pulled off the 
cloth, and sure enough there was the paper, which flut- 
tered down on to the floor. I was in a towering rage. 

224 


A Chapter of Accidents 

‘ Tve got you now/ thought I, and sent for him, while I 
got out my cane. Up he came as cool as you please, with 
his hands in his pockets. ‘ Didn’t I tell you to shake my 
table-cloth every morning roared I. ‘Yes,’ says he. 
‘Did you do it this morning?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘You young 
liar ! I put these pieces of paper on the table last 
night, and if you’d taken the table-cloth olf you’d 
have seen them, so I’m going to give you a good licking.’ 
Then my youngster takes one hand out of his pocket, and 
just stoops down and picks up two of the bits of paper, 
and holds them out to me. There was written on each, 
in great round text, ‘ Harry East, his mark.’ The young 
rogue had found my trap out, taken away my paper, and 
put some of his there, every bit ear-marked. I’d a great 
mind to lick him for his impudence, but after all one has 
no right to be laying traps, so I didn’t. Of course I was 
at his mercy till the end of the half, and in his weeks my 
study was so frowsy I couldn’t sit in it.” 

“ They spoil one’s things so, too,” chimed in a third 
boy. “ Hall and Brown were night-fags last week : I 
called fag, and gave them my candlesticks to clean ; 
away they went, and didn’t appear again. When they’d 
had time enough to clean them three times over, I went 
out to look after them. They weren’t in the passages, 
so down I went into the Hall, where 1 heard music, and 
there I found them sitting on the table, listening to 
Johnson, who was playing the flute, and my candlesticks 
stuck between the bars well into the fire, red-hot, clean- 
spoiled ; they’ve never stood straight since, and I must 
225 


Vol. 16— H 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

get some more. However, I gave them both a good 
licking, that's one comfort." 

Such were the sort of scrapes they were always get- 
ting into : and so, partly by their own faults, partly from 
circumstances, partly from the faults of others, they 
found themselves outlaws, ticket-of-leave men, or what 
you will in that line : in short, dangerous parties, and 
lived the sort of hand-to-mouth, wild, reckless life which 
such parties generally have to put up with. Nevertheless, 
they never quite lost favor with young Brooke, who was 
now the cock of the house, and just getting into the sixth, 
and Diggs stuck to them like a man, and gave them store 
of good advice, by which they never in the least profited. 

And even after the house mended, and law and order 
had been restored, which soon happened after young 
Brooke and Diggs got into the sixth, they couldn't easily 
or at once return into the paths of steadiness, and many 
of the old wild out-of-bounds habits stuck to them as 
firmly as ever. While they had been quite little boys, 
the scrapes they got into in the School hadn't much mat- 
tered to anyone ; but now they were in the upper school, 
all wrong-doers from which were sent up straight to the 
Doctor at once : so they began to come under his notice ; 
and as they were a sort of leaders in a small way among 
their own contemporaries, his eye, which was everywhere, 
was upon them. 

It was a toss-up whether they turned out well or ill, 
and so they were just the boys who caused most anxiety 
to such a master. You have been told of the first occa- 
226 


A Chapter of Accidents 

sion on which they were sent up to the Doctor, and the 
remembrance of it was so pleasant that they had much 
less fear of him than most boys of their standing had. 
‘‘It’s all his look,” Tom used to say to East, “that 
frightens fellows : don’t you remember, he never said 
anything to us my first half-year, for being an hour late 
for locking up ? ” 

The next time that Tom came before him, however, 
the interview was of a very different kind. It happened 
just about the time at which we have now arrived, and 
was the first of a series of scrapes into which our hero 
managed now to tumble. 

The river Avon at Rugby is a slow and not very 
clear stream, in which chub, dace, roach, and other 
coarse fish are (or were) plentiful enough, together with 
a fair sprinkling of small jack, but no fish worth six- 
pence either for sport or food. It is, however, a capital 
river for bathing, as it has many nice small pools and 
several good reaches for swimming, all within about a 
mile of one another, and at an easy twenty minutes’ walk 
from the school. This mile of water is rented, or used 
to be rented, for bathing purposes, by the Trustees of 
the School, for the boys. The footpath to Brownsover 
crosses the river by “ the Planks,” a curious old single- 
plank bridge, running for fifty or sixty yards into the flat 
meadows on each side of the river — for in the winter there 
are frequent floods. Above the Planks were the bathing 
places for the smaller boys ; Sleath’s, the first bathing 
place where all new boys had to begin, until they had 
22y 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

proved to the bathing men (three steady individuals who 
were paid to attend daily through the summer to prevent 
accidents) that they could swim pretty decently, when 
they were allowed to go on to Anstey’s, about one hun- 
dred and fifty yards below. Here there was a hole about 
six feet deep and twelve feet across, over which the puff- 
ing urchins struggled to the opposite side, and thought 
no small beer of themselves for having been out of 
their depths. Below the Planks came larger and deeper 
holes, the first of which was Wratislaw’s, and the last 
Swift's, a famous hole ten or twelve feet deep in parts, 
and thirty yards across, from which there was a fine 
swimming reach right down to the Mill. Swift's was 
reserved for the sixth and fifth forms, and had a spring 
board and two sets of steps : the others had one set of 
steps each, and were used indifferently by all the lower 
boys, though each house addicted itself more to one hole 
than to another. The School-house at this time affected 
Wratislaw's hole, and Tom and East, who had learnt to 
swim like fishes, were to be found there as regular as the 
clock through the summer, always twice, and often three 
times a day. 

Now the boys either had, or fancied they had, a right 
also to fish at their pleasure over the whole of this part 
of the river, and would not understand that the right (if 
any) only extended to the Rugby side. As ill luck would 
have it, the gentleman who owned the opposite bank, 
after allowing it for some time without interference, had 
ordered his keepers not to let the boys fish on his side ; 

228 


A Chapter of Accidents 

the consequence of which had been, that there had been 
first wranglings and then fights between the keepers and 
boys ; and so keen had the quarrel become, that the land- 
lord and his keepers, after a ducking had been inflicted 
on one of the latter, and a fierce fight ensued thereon, had 
been up to the great School at calling-over to identify the 
delinquents, and it was all the Doctor himself and five or 
six masters could do to keep the peace. Not even his 
authority could prevent the hissing ; and so strong was 
the feeling, that the four praepostors of the week walked up 
the school with their canes, shouting S-s-s-s-i-lenc-c-c-c-e 
at the top of their voices. However, the chief offenders 
for the time were flogged and kept in bounds, but the vic- 
torious party had brought a nice hornets’ nest about their 
ears. The landlord was hissed at the School gates as he 
rode past, and when he charged his horse at the mob of 
boys, and tried to thrash them with his whip, was driven 
back by cricket-bats and wickets, and pursued with peb- 
bles and fives’-balls ; while the wretched keepers’ lives 
were a burden to them, from having to watch the waters 
so closely. 

The School-house boys of Tom’s standing, one and 
all, as a protest against this tyranny and cutting short of 
their lawful amusements, took to fishing in all ways and 
especially by means of night-lines. The little tackle- 
maker at the bottom of the town would soon have made 
his fortune had the rage lasted, and several of the barbers 
began to lay in fishing-tackle. The boys had this great 
advantage over their enemies, that they spent a large por- 
229 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

tion of the day in nature’s garb by the river side, and so, 
when tired of swimming, would get out on the other side 
and fish, or set night-lines till the keeper hove in sight, 
, and then plunge in and swim back and mix with the other 
bathers, and the keepers were too wise to follow across 
the stream. 

While things were in this state, one day Tom and 
three or four others were bathing at Wratislaw’s, and 
had, as a matter of course, been taking up and resetting 
night-lines. They had all left the water, and were sitting 
or standing about at their toilets, in all costumes from a 
shirt upward, when they were aware of a man in a velve- 
teen shooting-coat approaching from the other side. He 
was a new keeper, so they didn’t recognize or notice him 
till he pulled up right opposite, and began ; 

‘‘ I see’d some of you young gentlemen over this side 
a fishing just now.” 

“ Hullo, who are you ? what business is that of yours, 
old Velveteens?” 

“ I’m the new under-keeper, and master’s told me to 
keep a sharp look-out on all o’ you young chaps. And 
I tells ’ee I means business, and you’d better keep on 
your own side, or we shall fall out.” 

‘‘Well, that’s right. Velveteens — speak out, and let’s 
know your mind at once.” 

“ Look here, old boy,” cried East, holding up a 
miserable coarse fish or two and a small jack, “ would you 
like to smell ’em and see which bank they lived under? ” 

“ I’ll give you a bit of advice, keeper,” shouted Tom, 
230 


A Chapter of Accidents 

who was sitting in his shirt paddling with his feet in the 
river ; “ you’d better go down there to Swift’s, where 
the big boys are, they’re beggars at setting lines, and’ll 
put you up to a wrinkle or two for catching the five- 
pounders.” Tom was nearest to the keeper, and that 
officer, who was getting angry at the chaff, fixed his eyes 
on our hero, as if to take a note of him for future use. 
Tom returned his gaze with a steady stare, and then 
broke into a laugh, and struck into the middle of a favor- 
ite School-house song — 

As I and my companions 
Were setting of a snare, 

The gamekeeper was watching us, 

For him we did not care : 

For we can wrestle and fight, my boys. 

And jump out anywhere. 

For it’s my delight of a likely night. 

In the season of the year. 

The chorus was taken up by the other boys with 
shouts of laughter, and the keeper turned away with a 
grunt, but evidently bent on mischief. The boys thought 
no more of the matter. 

But now came on the may-fiy season; the soft hazy 
summer weather lay sleepily along the rich meadows by 
Avon side, and the green and gray flies flickered with 
their graceful lazy up and down flight over the reeds 
and the water and the meadows, in myriads upon myriads. 
The may-flies must surely • be the lotus-eaters of the 
ephemerae ; the happiest, laziest, carelessest fly that 
dances and dreams out his few hours of sunshiny fife by 
English rivers. 


231 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

Every little pitiful coarse fish in the Avon was on the 
alert for the flies, and gorging his wretched carcass with 
hundreds daily, the gluttonous rogues ! and every lover 
of the gentle craft was out to avenge the poor may-flies. 

So one fine Thursday afternoon, Tom having bor- 
rowed East’s new rod, started by himself to the river. 
He fished for some time with small success, not a fish 
would rise at him ; but, as he prowled along the bank, he 
was presently aware of mighty ones feeding in a pool on 
the opposite side, under the shade of a huge willow-tree. 
The stream was deep here, but some fifty yards below 
was a shallow, for which he made off hot-foot ; and for- 
getting landlords, keepers, solemn prohibitions of the 
Doctor, and everything else, pulled up his trousers, 
plunged across, and in three minutes was creeping along 
on all fours toward the clump of willows. 

It isn’t often that great chub or any other coarse fish 
are in earnest about anything, but just then they were 
thoroughly bent on feeding, and in half an hour Master 
Tom had deposited three thumping fellows at the foot of 
the giant willow. As he was baiting for a fourth pounder, 
and just going to throw in again, he became aware of a 
man coming up the bank not one hundred yards off. 
Another look told him that it was the under-keeper. 
Could he reach the shallow before him? No, not carry- 
ing his rod. Nothing for it but the tree: so Tom laid 
his bones to it, shinning up as fast as he could, and 
dragging up his rod after him. He had just time to reach 
and crouch along upon a huge branch some ten feet up, 
232 


A Chapter of Accidents 

which stretched out over the river, when the keeper ar- 
rived at the clump. Tom’s heart beat fast as he came 
under the tree ; two steps more and he would have passed, 
when, as ill-luck would have it, the gleam on the scales 
of the dead fish caught his eye, and he made a dead point 
at the foot of the tree. He picked up the fish one by 
one ; his eye and touch told him that they had been alive 
and feeding within the hour. Tom crouched lower along 
the branch, and heard the keeper beating the clump. “ If 
I could only get the rod hidden,” thought he, and began 
gently shifting it to get it alongside of him ; ‘‘ willow- 
trees don’t throw out straight hickory shoots twelve 
feet along, with no leaves, worse luck.” Alas ! the keeper 
catches the rustle, and then a sight of the rod, and then 
of Tom’s hand and arm. 

Oh, be up ther’ be ’ee ? ” says he, running under the 
tree. ‘‘Now you come down this minute.” 

“Treed at last,” thinks Tom, making no answer, 
and keeping as close as possible, but working away at the 
rod, which he takes to pieces: I’m in for it, unless I can 
starve him out.” And then he begins to meditate getting 
along the branch for a plunge and scramble to the other 
side ; but the small branches are so thick, and the op- 
posite bank so difficult, that the keeper will have lots of 
time to get round by the ford before he can get out, so 
he gives that up. And now he hears the keeper begin- 
ning to scrarnble up the trunk. That will never do ; so 
he scrambles himself back to where his branch joins the 
trunk, and stands with lifted rod. 

233 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

“ Hullo, Velveteens, mind your fingers if you come 
any higher.’* 

The keeper stops and looks up, and then with a grin 
says, “ Oh ! be you, be it young measter ^ Well, here’s 
luck. Now I tells ’ee to come down at once, and ’t’ll be 
best for ’ee.” 

“ Thank ’ee. Velveteens, I’m very comfortable,” said 
Tom, shortening the rod in his hand, and preparing for 
battle. 

“ Werry well, please yourself,” says the keeper, de- 
scending however to the ground again, and taking his seat 
on the bank ; “ I bean’t in no hurry, so you med take 
your time. I’ll larn ’ee to gee honest folk names afore 
I’ve done with ’ee.” 

“ My luck as usual,” thinks Tom ; “ what a fool I was 
to give him a black. If I’d called him ‘ keeper’ now I 
might get off. The return match is all his way.” 

The keeper quietly proceeded to take out his pipe, fill, 
and light it, keeping an eye on Tom, who now sat dis- 
consolately across the branch, looking at keeper — a pitiful 
sight for men and fishes. The more he thought of it the 
less he liked it. “ It must be getting near second calling- 
over,” thinks he. Keeper smokes on stolidly. ‘‘ If he 
takes me up, I shall be flogged safe enough. I can’t sit 
here all night. Wonder if he’ll rise at silver. 

“ I say, keeper,” said he meekly, let me go for two 
bob ? ” 

“ Not for twenty neither,” grunts his persecutor. 

And so they sat on till long past second calling-over, 

234 


A Chapter of Accidents 

and the sun came slanting in through the willow-branches, 
and telling of locking-up near at hand. 

“ I’m coming down, keeper,” said Tom at last with a 
sigh, fairly tired out. “ Now what are you going to do ? ” 

“ Walk ’ee up to School, and give ’ee over to the Doc- 
tor; them’s my orders,” says Velveteens, knocking the 
ashes out of his fourth pipe, and standing up and shaking 
himself. 

‘‘ Very good,” said Tom; “but hands off, you know. 
I’ll go with you quietly, so no collaring or that sort of 
thing.” 

Keeper looked at him a minute — “ Werry good,” said 
he at last; and so Tom descended, and wended his way 
drearily by the side of the keeper up to the School-house, 
where they arrived just at locking-up. As they passed 
the School-gates, the Tadpole and several others who were 
standing there caught the state of things, and rushed out, 
crying'“ Rescue ! ” but Tom shook his head, so they only 
followed to the Doctor’s gate, and went back sorely puz- 
zled. 

How changed and stern the Doctor seemed from the 
last time that Tom was up there, as the keeper told the 
story, not omitting to state how Tom had called him 
blackguard names. “ Indeed, sir,” broke in the culprit, 
“it was only Velveteens.” The Doctor only asked one 
question. 

“You know the rule about the banks. Brown ? ” 

“ Yes, sir.” 

Then wait for me to-morrow, after first lesson.” 

235 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

“ I thought so,” muttered Tom. 

“ And about the rod, sir ! ” went on the keeper ; “ Mas- 
ter’s told we as we might have all the rods — ” 

“ Oh please, sir,” broke in Tom, “ the rod isn’t mine.” 
The Doctor looked puzzled, but the keeper, who was a 
good-hearted fellow, and melted at Tom’s evident dis- 
tress, gave up his claim. Tom was flogged next morning, 
and a few days afterward met Velveteens, and presented 
him with half a crown for giving up the rod claim, and 
they became sworn friends ; and I regret to say that Tom 
had many more fish from under the willow that may-fly 
season, and was never caught again by Velveteens. 

It wasn’t three weeks before Tom, and now East by 
his side, were again in the awful presence. This time, 
however, th6 Doctor was not so terrible. A few days be- 
fore, they had been fagged at fives to fetch the balls that 
went off the court. While standing watching the game, 
they saw five or six nearly new balls hit on the top of the 
School. “ I say Tom,” said East, when they were dis- 
missed, ‘‘ couldn’t we get those balls somehow ? ” 

Let’s try, anyhow.” 

So they reconnoitred the walls carefully, borrowed a 
coal-hammer from old Stumps, bought some big nails, and 
after one or two attempts, scaled the Schools, and pos- 
sessed themselves of huge quantities of fives’-balls. The 
place pleased them so much that they spent all their 
spare time there, scratching and cutting their names on the 
top of every tower ; and at last, having exhausted all other 
places, finished up with inscribing H. East, T. Brown, 
236 


A Chapter of Accidents 

on the minute-hand of the great clock. In the doing of 
which they held the minute-hand, and disturbed the clock’s 
economy. So next morning, when masters and boys came 
trooping down to prayers, and entered the quadrangle, the 
injured minute-hand was indicating three minutes to the 
hour. They all pulled up, and took their time. When 
the hour struck, doors were closed, and half the school 
late. Thomas being sent to make inquiry, discovers their 
names on the minute-hand, and reports accordingly ; and 
they are sent for, a knot of their friends making derisive 
and pantomimic allusions to what their fate will be, as they 
walk off. 

But the Doctor, after hearing their story, doesn’t make 
much of it, and only gives them thirty lines of Homer to 
learn by heart, and a lecture on the likelihood of such ex- 
ploits ending in broken bones. 

Alas ! almost the next day was one of the great fairs in 
the town ; and as several rows and other disagreeable acci- 
dents had of late taken place on these occasions, the Doc- 
tor gives out, after prayers in the morning, that no boy is 
to go down into the town. Wherefore East and Tom, for 
no earthly pleasure except that of doing what they are told 
not to do, start away, after second lesson, and making a 
short circuit through the fields, strike a back lane which 
leads into the town, go down it, and run plump upon one 
of the masters as they emerge into the High Street. The 
master in question, though a very clever, is not a right- 
eous man : he has already caught several of his own pupils, 
and gives them lines to learn, while he sends East and Tom, 

237 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

/ 

who are not his pupils, up to the Doctor ; who on learn- 
ing that they had been at prayers in the morning, flogs 
them soundly. 

The flogging did them no good at the time, for the 
injustice of their captor was rankling in their minds ; but 
it was just at the end of the half, and on the next even- 
ing but one Thomas knocks at their door, and says the 
Doctor wants to see them. They look at one another 
in silent dismay. What can it be now ? Which of their 
countless wrong-doings can he have heard of officially ? 
However, it is no use delaying, so up they go to the 
study. There they find the Doctor, not angry, but very 
grave. ‘‘ He has sent for them to speak very seriously 
before they go home. They have each been flogged sev- 
eral times in the half-year for direct and wilful breaches 
of rules. This cannot go on. They are doing no good 
to themselves or others, and now they are getting up in 
the School, and have influence. They seem to think 
that rules are made capriciously, and for the pleasure of 
the master ; but this is not so, they are made for the 
good of the whole School, and must and shall be obeyed. 
Those who thoughtlessly or wilfully break them will not 
be allowed to stay at the School. He should be sorry if 
they had to leave, as the School might do them both 
much good, and wishes them to think very seriously in 
the holidays over what he has said. Good night.” 

And so the two hurry oflT horribly scared : the idea 
of having to leave has never crossed their minds, and is 
quite unbearable. 


238 


A Chapter of Accidents 

As they go out, they meet at the door old Holmes, 
a sturdy cheery praepostor of another house, who goes 
in to the Doctor ; and they hear his genial hearty greet- 
ing of the new-comer, so different to their own reception, 
as the door closes, and return to their study with heavy 
hearts, and tremendous resolves to break no more rules. 

Five minutes afterward the master of their form, a 
a late arrival and a model young master, knocks at the 
Doctor’s study-door. “ Come in ! ” and as he enters the 
Doctor goes on, to Holmes — ‘‘ you see I do not know 
anything of the case officially, and if I take any notice 
of it at all, I must publicly expel the boy. I don’t wish 
to do that, for I think there is some good in him. 
There*s nothing for it but a good sound thrashing.” 
He paused to shake hands with the master, which 
Holmes does also, and then prepares to leave. 

“ I understand. Good night, sir.” 

‘‘ Good night. Holmes. And remember,” added the 
Doctor, emphasizing the words, “ a good sound thrashing 
before the whole house.” 

The door closed on Holmes ; and the Doctor, in 
answer to the puzzled look of his lieutenant, explained 
shortly. “ A gross case of bullying. Wharton, the 
head of the house, is a very good fellow, but slight and 
weak, and severe physical pain is the only way to deal 
with such a case ; so I have asked Holmes to take it up. 
He is very careful and trustworthy, and has plenty of 
strength. I wish all the sixth had as much. We must 
have it here, if we are to keep order at all,” 

239 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

Now I don’t want any wiseacres to read this book; 
but if they should, of course they will prick up their 
long ears, and howl, or rather bray, at the above story. 
Very good, I don’t object; but what I have to ^dd for 
you boys is this : that Holmes called a levy of his house 
after breakfast next morning, made them a speech on 
the case of bullying in question, and then gave the bully 
a good sound thrashing ” ; and that years afterward, 
that boy sought out Holmes, and thanked him, saying 
it had been the kindest act which had ever been done 
upon him, and the turning-point in his character; and 
a very good fellow he became, and a credit to his 
School. 

After some other talk between them, the Doctbr said, 
‘‘ I want to speak to you about two boys in your form. 
East and Brown : I have just been speaking to them. 
What do you think of them ? ” 

Well, they are not hard workers, and very thought- 
less and full of spirits — but I can’t help liking them. I 
think they are sound good fellows at the bottom.” 

I’m glad of it. I think so too. But they make 
me very uneasy. They are taking the lead a good deal 
among the fags in my house, for they are very active, 
bold fellows. I should be sorry to lose them, but I 
shan’t let them stay if I don’t see them gaining character 
and manliness. In another year they may do great harm 
to all the younger boys.” 

“ Oh, I hope you won’t send them away,” pleaded 
their master. 


240 


A Chapter of Accidents 

“ Not if I can help it. But now I never feel sure, 
after any half-holiday, that I shan’t have to flog one of 
them next morning, for some foolish, thoughtless scrape. 
I quite dread seeing either of them.” 

They were both silent for a minute. Presently the 
Doctor began again : 

They don’t feel that they have any duty or work 
to do in the School, and how is one to make them feel 
it?” 

I think if either of them had some little boy to take 
care of, it would steady them. Brown is the most reck- 
less of the two, I should say ; East wouldn’t get into so 
many scrapes without him.” 

‘‘Well,” said the Doctor, with something like a sigh, 
“I’ll think of it.” And they went on to talk of other 
subjects. 


241 


PART II 


“/ [hold] it truths with him who sings 
To one clear harp in divers tones, 

That men may rise on stepping-stones 
Of their dead selves to higher things." 

—Tennyson 


CHAPTER I 

HOW THE TIDE TURNED 

“ Once to every man and nation comes the moment to decide, 

In the strife of Truth with Falsehood, for the good or evil side : 

Then it is the brave man chooses, while the coward stands aside. 
Doubting in his abject spirit, till his Lord is crucified.” — Lowell 

f I ^HE turning point in our hero's school career had 

I now come, and the manner of it was as follows. 

^ On the evening of the first day of the next half- 
year, Tom, East, and another School-house boy, who 
had just been dropped at the Spread Eagle by the old 
Regulator, rushed into the matron's room in high spirits, 
such as all real boys are in when they first get back, 
however fond they may be of home. 

“Well,- Mrs. Wixie," shouted one, seizing on the 
methodical, active little dark-eyed woman, who was busy 
stowing away the linen of the boys who had already ar- 
rived into their several pigeon-holes, “ here we are again, 
you see, as jolly as ever. Let us help you put the things 
away." 

“ And Mary," cried another (she was called indiffer- 
ently by either name), “who’s come back? Has the 
Doctor made old Jones leave? How many new boys 
are there ? " 

242 


How the Tide Turned 


‘^Am I and East to have Gray's study? You know 
you promised to get it for us if you could," shouted 
Tom. 

‘^And am I to sleep in Number 4?" roared East. 

‘‘How's old Sam, and Bogle, and Sally?" 

“ Bless the boys ! " cries Mary, at last getting in a 
word, “why, you'll shake me to death. There now, do 
go away up to the housekeeper's room and get your 
suppers; you know I haven’t time to talk — you'll find 
plenty more in the house. Now, Master East, do let 
those things alone — you're mixing up three new boys' 
things." And she rushed at East, who escaped round 
the open trunks holding up a prize. 

“Hullo, look here. Tommy," shouted he, “here's 
fun ! " and he brandished above his head some pretty 
little night-caps, beautifully made and marked, the work 
of loving fingers in some distant country home. The 
kind mother and sisters, who sewed that delicate stitching 
with aching hearts, little thought of the trouble they 
might be bringing on the young head for which they 
were meant. The little matron was wiser, and snatched 
the caps from East before he could look at the name on 
them. 

“Now, Master East, I shall be very angry if you 
don't go," said she ; “ there's some capital cold beef and 
pickles upstairs, and I won't have you old boys in my 
room first night." 

“Hurrah for the pickles! Come along. Tommy; 
come along. Smith. We shall find out who the young 

243 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

Count is, ril be bound : I hope he’ll sleep in my room. 
Mary’s always vicious first week.” 

As the boys turned to leave the room, the matron 
touched Tom’s arm, and said, “ Master Brown, please 
stop a minute, I want to speak to you.” 

‘^Very well, Mary. I’ll come in a minute; East, 
don’t finish the pickles — ” 

“ Oh, Master Brown,” went on the little matron, 
when the rest had gone, “ you’re to have Gray’s study, 
Mrs. Arnold says. And she wants you to take in this 
young gentleman. He’s a new boy, and thirteen years 
old, though he don’t look it. He’s very delicate, and 
has never been from home before. And I told Mrs. 
Arnold I thought you’d be kind to him, and see that they 
don’t bully him at first. He’s put into your form, and 
I’ve given him the bed next to yours in Number 4; so 
East can’t sleep there this half.” 

Tom was rather put about by this speech. He had 
got the double study which he coveted, but here were 
conditions attached which greatly moderated his joy. He 
looked across the room, and in the far corner of the sofa 
was aware of a slight pale boy, with large blue eyes and 
light fair hair, who seemed ready to shrink through the 
floor. He saw at a glance that the little stranger was just 
the boy whose first half-year at a public school would be 
misery to himself if he were left alone, or constant anxiety 
to any one who meant to see him through his troubles. 
Tom was too honest to take in the youngster and then 
let him shift for himself ; and if he took him as his chum 
244 


How the Tide Turned 

instead of East, where were all his pet plans of having a 
bottled-beer cellar under his window, and making night- 
lines and slings, and plotting expeditions to Brownsover 
Mills and Caldecott’s Spinney ? East and he had made 
up their minds to get this study, and then every night 
from locking-up till ten they would be together to talk 
about fishing, drink bottled-beer, read Marryat’s novels, 
and sort birds’ eggs. And this new boy would most 
likely never go out of the close, and would be afraid of 
wet feet, and always getting laughed at and called Molly 
or Jenny, or some derogatory feminine nickname. 

The matron watched him for a moment, and saw what 
was passing in his mind, and so, like a wise negotiator, 
threw in an appeal to his warm heart. ‘‘ Poor little fel- 
low,” said she in almost a whisper, “ his father’s dead, 
and he’s got no brothers. And his mamma, such a kind 
sweet lady, almost broke her heart at leaving him this 
morning; and she said one of his sisters was like to die 
of decline, and so ” 

‘‘Well, well,” burst in Tom, with something like a 
sigh at the effort, “ I suppose I must give up East. Come 
along, young un. What’s your name? We’ll go and 
have some supper, and then I’ll show you our study.” 

“ His name’s George Arthur,” said the matron, walk- 
ing up, to him with Tom, who grasped his little delicate 
hand as the proper preliminary to making a chum of him, 
and felt as if he could have blown him away. “ I’ve had 
his books and things put into the study, which his mamma 
has had new papered, and the sofa covered, and new 

245 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

green-baize curtains over the door’’ (the diplomatic ma- 
tron threw this in, to show that the new boy was contribu- 
ting largely to the partnership comforts). ‘‘ And Mrs. 
Arnold told me to say,” she added, “ that she should like 
you both to come up to tea with her. You know the 
way. Master Brown, and the things are just gone up, I 
know.” 

Here was an announcement for Master Tom! He 
was to go up to tea the first night, just as if he were a 
sixth or fifth form boy, and of importance in the school 
world, instead of the most reckless young scapegrace 
among the fags. He felt himself lifted on to a higher 
social and moral platform at once. Nevertheless, he 
couldn’t give up without a sigh the idea of the jolly supper 
in the housekeeper’s room with East and the rest, and a 
rush round to all the studies of his friends afterward, to 
pour out the deeds and wonders of the holidays, to plot 
fifty plans for the coming half-year, and to gather news 
of who had left, and what new boys had come, who had 
got who’s study, and where the new praepostors » slept. 
However, Tom consoled himself with thinking that he 
couldn’t have done all this with the new boy at his heels, 
and so marched off along the passages to the Doctor’s 
private house with his young charge in tow, in monstrous 
good humor with himself and all the world. 

It is needless, and would be impertinent, to tell how 
the two young boys were received in that drawing-room. 
The lady who presided there is still living, and has carried 
with her to her peaceful home in the North the respect 
246 


How the Tide Turned 


and love of all those who ever felt and shared that gentle 
and high-bred hospitality. Ay, many is the brave heart 
now doing its work and bearing its load in country cu- 
racies, London chambers, under the Indian sun, and in 
Australian towns and clearings, which looks back with 
fond and grateful memory to that School-house drawing- 
room, and dates much of its highest and best training to 
the lessons learned there. 

Besides Mrs. Arnold and one or two of the elder 
children, there were one of the younger masters, young 
Brooke — who was now in the sixth, and had succeeded 
to his brother's position and influence — and another sixth- 
form boy there, talking together before the fire. The 
master and young Brooke, now a great strapping fellow 
six feet high, eighteen years old, and powerful as a coal- 
heaver, nodded kindly to Tom, to his intense glory, and 
then went on talking; the other did not notice them. 
The hostess, after a few kind words, which led the boys 
at once and insensibly to feel at their ease, and to begin 
talking to one another, left them with her own children 
while she finished a letter. The young ones got on fast 
and well, Tom holding forth about a prodigious pony he 
had been riding out hunting, and hearing stories of the 
winter glories of the lakes, when tea came in, and im- 
mediately after the Doctor himself. 

H ow frank, and kind, and manly, was his greeting 
to the party by the fire ! It did Tom's heart good to 
see him and young Brooke shake hands and look one 
another in the face ; and he didn't fail to remark that 
247 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

Brooke was nearly as tall, and quite as broad as the Doc- 
tor. And his cup was full when, in another moment, his 
master turned to him with another warm shake of the 
hand, and, seemingly oblivious of all the late scrapes 
which he had been getting into, said, ‘‘ Ah, Brown, you 
here ! I hope you left your father and all well at home ? 

“ Yes, sir, quite well.” 

“ And this is the little fellow who is to share your 
study. Well, he doesn’t look as we should like to see 
him. He wants some Rugby air, and cricket. And you 
must take him some good long walks, to Bilton Grange 
and Caldecott’s Spinney, and show him what a little 
pretty country we have about here.” 

Tom wondered if the Doctor knew that his visits to 
Bilton Grange were for the purpose of taking rooks’ nests 
(a proceeding strongly discountenanced by the owner 
thereof), and those to Caldecott’s Spinney were prompted 
chiefly by the conveniences for setting night-lines. What 
didn’t the Doctor know ? And what a noble use he always 
made of it ! He almost resolved to abjure rook-pies and 
night-lines for ever. The tea went merrily off, the Doc- 
tor now talking of holiday doings, and then of the prospects 
of the half year, what chance there was for the Balliol schol- 
arship, whether the eleven would be a good one. Every- 
body was at his ease, and everybody felt that he, young 
as he might be, was of some use in the little school world, 
and had a work to do there. 

Soon after tea the Doctor went off to his study, and 
the young boys a few minutes afterward took their leave, 
248 


How the Tide Turned 


and went out of the private door which led from the Doc- 
tor’s house into the middle passage. 

At the fire, at the further end of the passage, was a 
crowd of boys in loud talk and laughter. There was a sud- 
den pause when the door opened, and then a great shout 
of greeting, as Tom was recognized marching down the 
passage. 

“ Hullo, Brown, where do you come from?” 

“Oh, I’ve been to tea with the Doctor,” says Tom, 
with great dignity. 

“ My eye ! ” cried East. “ Oh ! so that’s why Mary 
called you back, and you didn’t come to supper. You 
lost something — that beef and pickles was no end good.” 

“ I say, young fellow,” cried Hall, detecting Arthur, 
and catching him by the collar, “ what’s your name ? 
Where do you come from? How old are you?” 

Tom saw Arthur shrink back, and look scared as all 
the group turned to him, but thought it best to let him 
answer, just standing by his side to support in case of need. 

“ Arthur, sir. I come from Devonshire.” 

“ Don’t call me ‘ sir,’ you young muff. How old are 
you : 

“Thirteen.” 

“ Can you sing ? ” 

The poor boy was trembling and hesitating. Tom 
struck in — “You be hanged. Tadpole. He’ll have to 
sing, whether he can or not, Saturday twelve weeks, and 
that’s long enough off yet.” 

“ Do you know him at home. Brown ? ” 

249 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

No ; but he*s my chum in Gray’s old study, and it’s 
near prayer time, and I haven’t had a look at it yet. 
Come along, Arthur.” 

Away went the two, Tom longing to get his charge 
safe under cover, where, he might advise him on his 
deportment. 

‘‘What a queer chum for Tom Brown,” was the com- 
ment at the fire ; and it must be confessed so thought 
Tom himself, as he lighted his candle, and surveyed the 
new green-baize curtains and the carpet and sofa with much 
satisfaction. 

“ I say, Arthur, what a brick your mother is to make 
us so cosy. But look here, now, you must answer straight 
up when the fellows speak to you, and don’t be afraid. 
If you’re afraid, you’ll get bullied. And don’t you say 
you can’t sing; and don’t you ever talk about home, or 
your mother and sisters.” 

Poor little Arthur looked ready to cry. 

“But, please,” said he, “mayn’t I talk about — about 
home to you ? ” 

“ Oh, yes, I like it. But don’t talk to boys you don’t 
know, or they’ll call you home-sick, or mamma’s darling, 
or some such stuff. What a jolly desk ! Is that yours ? 
And what stunning binding ! why, your school-books 
look like novels ! ” 

And Tom was soon deep in Arthur’s goods and chat- 
tels, all new and good enough for a fifth-form boy, and 
hardly thought of his friends outside, till the prayer-bell 
rung. 


250 


How the Tide Turned 


I have already described the School-house prayers; 
they were the same on the first night as on the other nights, 
save for the gaps caused by the absence of those boys who 
came late, and the line of new boys who stood all together 
at the further table — of all sorts and sizes, like young bears 
with all their troubles to come, as Tom’s father had said 
to him when he was in the same position. He thought 
of it as he looked at the line, and poor little slight Arthur 
standing with them, and as he was leading him upstairs 
to Number 4, directly after prayers, and showing him his 
bed. It was a huge, high, airy room, with two large win- 
dows looking on to the School close. There were twelve 
beds in the room. The one in the furthest corner by 
the fireplace, occupied by the sixth-form boy who was 
responsible for the discipline of the room, and the rest by 
boys in the lower-fifth and other junior forms, all fags 
(for the fifth-form boys, as has been said, slept in rooms 
by themselves). Being fags, the eldest of them was not 
more than about sixteen years old, and were all bound to 
be up and in bed by ten ; the sixth-form boys came to 
bed from ten to a quarter past (at which time the old ver- 
ger came round to put the candles out), except when they 
sat up to read. 

• Within a few minutes therefore of their entry, all the 
other boys who slept in Number 4 had come up. The 
little fellows went quietly to their own beds, and began 
undressing and talking to each other in whispers ; while 
the elder, among whom was Tom, sat chatting about on 
one another’s beds, with their jackets and waistcoats ofE 
251 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

Poor little Arthur was overwhelmed with the novelty of 
his position. The idea of sleeping in the room with strange 
boys had clearly never crossed his mind before, and was 
as painful as it was strange to him. He could hardly bear 
to take his jacket off ; however, presently, with an effort, 
off it came, and then he paused and looked at Tom, who 
was sitting at the bottom of his bed talking and laughing. 

Please, Brown,*’ he whispered, may I wash my 
face and hands ? ” 

“Of course, if you like,” said Tom, staring; “that’s 
your washhand-stand, under the window, second from 
your bed. You’ll have to go down for more water in the 
morning if you use it all.” And on he went with his 
talk, while Arthur stole timidly from between the beds 
out to his washhand-stand, and began his ablutions, 
thereby drawing for a moment on himself the attention 
of the room. 

On went the talk and laughter. Arthur finished his 
washing and undressing, and put on his night-gown. He 
then looked round more nervously than ever. Two or 
three of the little boys were already in bed, sitting up 
with their chins on their knees. The light burned clear, 
the noise went on. It was a trying moment for the poor 
little lonely boy; however, this time he didn’t ask Tom 
what he might or might not do, but dropped on his 
knees by his bedside, as he had done every day from his 
childhood, to open his heart to Him who heareth the 
cry and beareth the sorrows of the tender child, and the 
strong man in agony. 


252 


How the Tide Turned 


Tom was sitting at the bottom of his bed unlacing 
his boots, so that his back was toward Arthur, and he 
didn’t see what had happened, and looked up in wonder 
at the sudden silence. Then two or three boys laughed 
and sneered, and a big brutal fellow, who was standing 
in the middle of the room, picked up a slipper, and shied 
it at the kneeling boy, calling him a snivelling young 
shaver. Then Tom saw the whole, and the next moment 
the boot he had just pulled off flew straight at the head 
of the bully, who had just time to throw up his arm and 
catch it on his elbow. 

“ Confound you. Brown, what’s that for? ” roared he, 
stamping with pain. 

‘‘ Never mind what I mean,” said Tom, stepping on 
to the floor, every drop of blood in his body tingling ; 
“ if any fellow wants the other boot, he knows how to 
get it.” 

What would have been the result is doubtful, for at 
this moment the sixth-form boy came in, and not another 
word could be said. Tom and the rest rushed into bed 
and finished their unrobing there, and the old verger, as 
punctual as the clock, had put out the candle in another 
minute, and toddled on to the next room, shutting their 
door with his usual Good night, genl’m’n.” 

There were many boys in the room by whom that 
little scene was taken to heart before they slept. But 
sleep seemed to have deserted the pillow of poor Tom. 
For some time his excitement, and the flood of memories 
which chased one another through his brain, kept him 

253 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

from thinking or resolving. His head throbbed, his 
heart leapt, and he could hardly keep himself from 
springing out of bed and rushing about the room. Then 
the thought of his own mother came across him, and the 
promise he had made at her knee, years ago, never to 
forget to kneel by his bedside, and give himself up to 
his Father, before he laid his head on the pillow, from 
which it might never rise ; and he lay down gently and 
cried as if his heart would break. He was only fourteen 
years old. 

It was no light act of courage in those days, my dear 
boys, for a little fellow to say his prayers publicly, even 
at Rugby. A few years later, when Arnold’s manly 
piety had begun to leaven the School the tables turned ; 
before he died, in the School-house at least, and I believe 
in the other houses, the rule was the other way. But 
poor Tom had come to school in other times. The first 
few nights after he came he did not kneel down because 
of the noise, but sat up in bed till the candle was out, 
and then stole out and said his prayers in fear, lest some 
one should find him out. So did many another poor 
little fellow. Then he began to think that he might 
just as well say his prayers in bed, and then that it 
didn’t matter whether he was kneeling, or sitting, or 
lying down. And so it had come to pass with Tom as 
with all who will not confess their Lord before men : 
and for the last year he had probably not said his prayers 
in earnest a dozen times. 

Poor Tom ! the first and bitterest feeling which was 
254 


How the Tide Turned 

like to break his heart was the sense of his own coward- 
ice. The vice of all others which he loathed was brought 
in and burned in on his soul. He had lied to his mother, 
to his conscience, to his God. How could he bear it? 
And then the poor little weak boy, whom he had pitied 
and almost scorned for his weakness, had done that 
which he, braggart as he was, dared not to do. The first 
dawn of comfort came to him in swearing to himself that 
he would stand by that boy through thick and thin, and 
cheer him, and help him, and bear his burdens, for the 
good deed done that night. Then he resolved to write 
home next day and tell his mother all, and what a coward 
her son had been. And then peace came to him as he 
resolved, lastly, to bear his testimony next morning. 
The morning would be harder than the night to begin 
with, but he felt that he could not afford to let one chance 
slip. Several times he faltered, for the devil showed 
him, first, all his old friends calling him “Saint*' and 
“ Square-toes,” and a dozen hard names, and whispered 
to him that his motives would be misunderstood, and he 
would only be left alone with the new boy ; whereas it 
was his duty to keep all means of influence, that he 
might do good to the largest number. And then came 
the more subtle temptation, “ Shall I not be showing 
myself braver than others by doing this? Have I any 
right to begin it now ? Ought I not rather to pray in 
my own study, letting other boys know that I do so, and 
trying to lead them to it, while in public at least I should 
go on as I have done?” However, his good angel was 

255 


Tom Brown’s School Days 


too strong that night, and he turned on his side and 
slept, tired of trying to reason, but resolved to follow the 
impulse which had been so strong, and in which he had 
found peace. 

Next morning he was up and washed and dressed, all 
but his jacket and waiscoat, just as the ten minutes’ bell 
began to ring, and then in the face of the whole room 
knelt down to pray. Not five words could he say — the 
bell mocked him ; he was listening for every whisper in 
the room — what were they all thinking of him? He 
was ashamed to go on kneeling, ashamed to rise from 
his knees. At last, as it were from his inmost heart, a still 
small voice seemed to breathe forth the words of the 
publican, God be merciful to me a sinner ! ” He 
repeated them over and over, clinging to them as for his 
life, and rose from his knees comforted and humbled, 
and ready to face the whole world. It was not needed : 
two other boys besides Arthur had already followed his 
example, and he went down to the great School with a 
glimmering of another lesson in his heart — the lesson 
that he who has conquered his own coward spirit has 
conquered the whole outward world ; and that other one 
which the old prophet learned in the cave in Mount 
Horeb, when he hid his face, and the still small voice 
asked, “ What doest thou here, Elijah ? ” that however we 
may fancy ourselves alone on the side of good, the King 
and Lord of men is nowhere without His witnesses ; for in 
every society, however seemingly corrupt and godless, 
there are those who have not bowed the knee to Baal. 

256 


How the Tide Turned 


He found too how greatly he had exaggerated the 
effect to be produced by his act. For a few nights there 
was a sneer or a laugh when he knelt down, but this 
passed off soon, and one by one all the other boys but 
three or four followed the lead. I fear that this was in 
some measure owing to the fact, that Tom could prob- 
ably have thrashed any boy in the room except the prae- 
postor ; at any rate, every boy knew that he would try 
upon very slight provocation, and didn’t choose to run 
the risk of a hard fight because Tom Brown had taken a 
fancy to say his prayers. Some of the small boys of 
Number 4 communicated the new state of things to their 
chums ; and in several other rooms the poor little fellows 
tried it on ; in one instance or so where the praepostor 
heard of it and interfered very decidedly, with partial 
success ; but in the rest, after a short struggle, the con- 
fessors were bullied or laughed down, and the old state 
of things went on for some time longer. Before either 
Tom Brown or Arthur left the School-house, there was 
no room in which it had not become the regular custom. 
I trust it is so still, and that the old heathen state of 
things has gone out forever. 


Vol. 16— I 


257 


CHAPTER II 


THE NEW BOY 

“ And Heaven’s rich instincts in him grew, 

As effortless as woodland nooks 

Send violets up and paint them blue.” — Lowell 

I DO not mean to recount all the little troubles and 
annoyances which thronged upon Tom at the be- 
ginning of this half-year, in his new character of 
bear-leader to a gentle little boy straight from home. 
He seemed to himself to have become a new boy again, 
without any of the long-suffering and meekness indispen- 
sable for supporting that character with moderate success. 
From morning till night he had the feeling of responsi- 
bility on his mind ; and even if he left Arthur in their 
study or in the close for an hour, was never at ease till 
he had him in sight again. He waited for him at the 
doors of the school after every lesson and every calling- 
over ; watched that no tricks were played him, and none 
but the regulation questions asked ; kept his eye on his 
plate at dinner and breakfast, to see that no unfair depre- 
dations were made upon his viands ; in short, as East 
remarked, cackled after him like a hen with one chick. 

Arthur took a long time thawing too, which made it 
all the harder work ; was sadly timid ; scarcely ever 
spoke unless Tom spoke to him first; and, worst of all, 
would agree with him in everything, the hardest thing in 
258 


The New Boy 

the world for a Brown to bear. He got quite angry 
sometimes, as they sat together of a night in their study, 
at this provoking habit of agreement, and was on the 
point of breaking out a dozen times with a lecture upon 
the propriety of a fellow having a will of his own and 
speaking out; but managed to restrain himself by the 
thought that it might only frighten Arthur, and the 
remembrance of the lesson he had learned from him on 
his first night at Number 4. Then he would resolve to 
sit still, and not say a word till Arthur began ; but he 
was always beat at that game, and had presently to begin 
talking in despair, fearing lest Arthur might think he was 
vexed at somet)iing if he didn’t, and dog-tired of sitting 
tongue-tied. 

It was hard work ! But Tom had taken it up, and 
meant to stick to it, and go through with it, so as to sat- 
isfy himself ; in which resolution he was much assisted 
by the chaffing of East and his other old friends, who 
began to call him “ dry-nurse,” and otherwise to break 
their small wit on him. But when they took other 
ground, as they did every now and then, Tom was sorely 
puzzled. 

“Tell you what. Tommy,” East would say, “you’ll 
spoil young Hopeful with too much coddling. Why 
can’t you let him go about by himself and find his own 
level He’ll never be worth a button, if you go on 
keeping him under your skirts.” 

“ Well, but he ain’t fit to fight his own way yet ; I’m 
trying to get him to it every day — but he’s very odd. 

259 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

Poor little beggar ! I can’t make him out a bit. He 
ain’t a bit like anything I’ve ever seen or heard of — he 
seems all over nerves ; anything you say seems to hurt 
him like a cut or a blow.” 

That sort of boy’s no use here,” said East, “ he’ll 
only spoil. Now, I’ll tell you what to do. Tommy. Go 
and get a nice large band-box made, and put him in with 
plenty of cotton wool, and a pap bottle, labelled ‘With 
care — this side up,’ and send him back to mamma.” 

“ I think I shall make a hand of him though,” said 
Tom, smiling, “say what you will. There’s something 
about him, every now and then, which shows me he’s got 
pluck somewhere in him. That’s the only thing after 
all that’ll wash, ain’t it, old Scud ? But how to get at it 
and bring it out ?” 

Tom took one hand out of his breeches pocket and 
stuck it in his back hair for a scratch, giving his hat a tilt 
over his nose, his one method of invoking wisdom. He 
stared at the ground with a ludicrously puzzled look, and 
presently looked up and met East’s eyes. That young 
gentleman slapped him on the back, and then put his 
arm round his shoulder, as they strolled through the 
quadrangle together. “Tom,” said he, “blest if you 
ain’t the best old fellow ever was — I do like to see you 
go into a thing. Hang it, I wish I could take things as 
you do^ — but I never can get higher than a joke. Every- 
thing’s a joke. If I was going to be flogged next minute 
I should be in a blue funk, but I couldn’t help laughing 
at it for the life of me.” 


260 


The New Boy 

“ Brown and East, you go and fag for Jones on the 
great fives* court.** 

“ Hullo, though, that*s past a joke,** broke out East, 
springing at the young gentleman who addressed them, 
and catching him by the collar. “ Here, Tommy, catch 
hold of him t*other side before he can holla.** 

The youth was seized, and dragged struggling out of 
the quadrangle into the School-house hall. He was one 
of the miserable little pretty white-handed curly-headed 
boys, petted and pampered by some of the big fellows, 
who wrote their verses for them, taught them to drink and 
use bad language, and did all they could to spoil them for 
everything* in this world and the next. One of the avo- 
cations in which these young gentlemen took particular 
delight, was in going about and getting fags for their pro- 
tectors, when those heroes were playing any game. They 
carried about pencil and paper with them, putting down 
the names of all the boys they sent, always sending five 
times as many as were wanted, and getting all those thrashed 
who didn*t go. The present youth belonged to a house 
which was very jealous of the School-house, and always 
picked out School-house fags when he could find them. 
However, this time he*d got the wrong sow by the ear. His 
captors slammed the great door of the hall, and East put 
his back against it, while Tom gave the prisoner a shake-up, 


* A kind and wise critic, an old Rugboean, notes here in the margin: The 

“ small friend system was not so utterly bad from 1841-1847.” Before that, 
too, there were many noble friendships between big and little boys, but I 
can’t strike out the passage: many boys will know why it is left in. 

261 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

took away his list, and stood him up on the floor, while 
he proceeded leisurely to examine that document. 

“ Let me out, let me go ! ” screamed the boy in a fu- 
rious passion. “ I’ll go and tell Jones this minute, and 
he’ll give you both the thrashing you ever had.” 

Pretty little dear,” said East, patting the top of his 
hat; “hark how he swears, Tom. Nicely brought up 
young man, ain’t he, I don’t think.” 

“ Let me alone, you,” roared the boy foaming 

with rage, and kicking at East, who quietly tripped him 
up, and deposited him on the floor in a place of safety. 

“ Gently, young fellow,” said he ; “ ’taint improving 
for little whippersnappers like you to be indulging in blas- 
phemy ; so you stop that, or you’ll get something you 
won’t like.” 

“ I’ll have you both licked when I get out, that I will,” 
rejoined the boy, beginning to snivel. 

“Two can play at that game, mind you,” said Tom, 
who had finished his examination of the list. “ Now you 
just listen here. We’ve just come across the fives’ court, 
and Jones has four fags there already, two more than he 
wants. If he’d wanted us to change, he’d have stopped 
us himself. And here, you little blackguard, you’ve got 
seven names down on your list besides ours, and five of 
them School-house.” Tom walked up to him and jerked 
him on to his legs ; he was by this time whining like a 
whipped puppy. 

“ Now listen to me. We ain’t going to fag for Jones. 
If you tell him you’ve sent us, we’ll each of us give you 
262 


The New Boy 

such a thrashing as you’ll remember.” And Tom tore 
up the list and threw the pieces into the fire. 

‘‘ And mind you too,” said East, don’t let me catch 
you again sneaking about the School-house, and picking 
up our fags. You haven’t got the sort of hide to take a 
sound licking kindly ; ” and he opened the door and 
sent the young gentleman flying into the quadrangle, 
with a parting kick. 

“ Nice boy. Tommy,” said East, shoving his hands 
in his pockets and strolling to the fire. 

“ Worst sort we breed,” responded Tom, following 
his example. “ Thank goodness, no big fellow ever took 
to petting me.” 

‘‘ You’d never have been like that,” said East. ‘‘ I 
should like to have put him in a museum — Christian 
young gentleman, nineteenth century, highly educated. 
Stir him up with a long pole. Jack, and hear him swear 
like a drunken sailor ! He’d make a respectable public 
open its eyes, I think.” 

“Think he’ll tell Jones? ” said Tom. 

“ No,” said East. “ Don’t care if he does.” 

“ Nor I,” said Tom. And they went back to talk 
about Arthur. 

The young gentleman had brains enough not to tell 
Jones, reasoning that East and Brown, who were noted 
as some of the toughest fags in the school, wouldn’t care 
three straws for any licking Jones might give them, and 
would be likely to keep their words as to passing it on 
with interest. 


263 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

After the above conversation. East came a good deal 
to their study, and took notice of Arthur ; and soon 
allowed to Tom that he was a thorough little gentle- 
man, and would get over his shyness all in good time ; 
which much comforted our hero. He felt every day, 
too, the value of having an object in his life, something 
that drew him out of himself ; and, it being the dull time 
of the year, and no games going about which he much 
cared, was happier than he had ever yet been at school, 
which was saying a great deal. 

The time which Tom allowed himself away from his 
charge, was from locking-up till supper-time. During 
this hour or hour-and-half he used to take his fling, 
going round to the studies of all his acquaintance, spar- 
ring or gossiping in the hall, now jumping the old iron- 
bound tables, or carving a bit of his name on them, then 
joining in some chorus of merry voices ; in fact, blowing 
off his steam, as we should now call it. 

This process was so congenial to his temper, and 
Arthur showed himself so pleased at the arrangement, 
that it was several weeks before Tom was ever in their 
study before supper. One evening, however, he rushed 
in to look for an old chisel, or some corks, or other arti- 
cles essential to his pursuit for the time being, and while 
rummaging about in the cupboards, looked up for a 
moment, and was caught at once by the figure of poor 
little Arthur. The boy was sitting with his elbows on 
the table, and his head leaning on his hands, and before 
him an open book, on which his tears were falling fast. 

264 


The New Boy 

Tom shut the door at once, and sat down on the sofa by 
Arthur, putting his arm round his neck. 

“ Why, young un ! what’s the matter ? ” said he kind- 
ly ; ‘‘ you ain’t unhappy, are you ? ” 

‘‘ Oh no. Brown,” said the little boy, looking up with 
the great tears in his eyes, “ you are so kind to me. I’m 
very happy.” 

“Why don’t you call me Tom? lots of boys do that 
I don’t like half so much as you. What are you read- 
ing, then ? Hang it, you must come about with me, and 
not mope yourself,” and Tom cast down his eyes on the 
book, and saw it was the Bible. He was silent for a 
minute, and thought to himself, “ Lesson Number 2, 
Tom Brown;” — and then said gently — 

“ I’m very glad to see this, Arthur, and ashamed that 
I don’t read the Bible more myself. Do you read it 
every night before supper while I’m out?” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Well, I wish you’d wait till afterward, and then 
we’d read together. But, Arthur, why does it make you 
cry ? ” 

“ Oh, it isn’t that I’m unhappy. But at home, while 
my father was alive, we always read the lessons after tea ; 
and I love to read them over now, and try to remember 
what he said about them. I can’t remember all, and I 
think I scarcely understand a great deal of what I do re- 
member. But it all comes back to me so fresh, that I 
can’t help crying sometimes to think I shall never read 
them again with him.” 


265 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

Arthur had never spoken of his home before, and 
Tom hadn’t encouraged him to do so, as his blundering 
school-boy reasoning made him think that Arthur would 
be softened and less manly for thinking of home. But 
now he was fairly interested, and forgot all about chisels 
and bottled beer; while with very little encouragement 
Arthur launched into his home history, and the prayer- 
bell put them both out sadly when it rang to call them 
to the hall. 

From this time Arthur constantly spoke of his home, 
and above all of his father, who had been dead about a 
year, and whose memory Tom soon got to love and 
reverence almost as much as his own son did. 

Arthur’s father had been the clergyman of a parish in 
the Midland Counties, which had risen into a large town 
during the war, and upon which the hard years which fol- 
lowed had fallen with a fearful weight. The trade had 
been half ruined : and then came the old sad story, of 
masters reducing their establishments, men turned off 
and wandering about, hungry and wan in body and fierce 
in soul, from the thought of wives and children starving 
at home, and the last sticks of furniture going to the 
pawnshop. Children taken from school, and lounging 
about the dirty streets and courts, too listless almost to 
play, and squalid in rags and misery. And then the fear- 
ful struggle between the employers and men ; lowerings 
of wages, strikes, and the long course of oft-repeated 
crime, ending every now and then with a riot, a fire, and 
the county yeomanry. There is no need here to dwell 
266 


The New Boy 

Upon such tales ; the Englishman into whose soul they 
have not sunk deep is not worthy the name ; you Eng- 
lish boys for whom this book is meant (God bless your 
bright faces and kind hearts !) will learn it all soon enough. 

Into such a parish and state of society, Arthur’s father 
had been thrown at the age of twenty-five, a young mar- 
ried parson, full of faith, hope, and love. He had battled 
with it like a man, and had lots of fine Utopian ideas 
about the perfectibility of mankind, glorious humanity 
and such-like, knocked out of his head ; and a real whole- 
some Christian love for the poor struggling, sinning men, 
of whom he felt himself one, and with and for whom he 
spent fortune, and strength, and life, driven into his 
heart. He had battled like a man, and gotten a man’s 
reward. No silver teapots or salvers, with flowery in- 
scriptions, setting forth his virtues and the appreciation 
of a genteel parish ; no fat living or stall, for which he 
never looked, and didn’t care; no sighs and praises of 
comfortable dowagers and well got-up young women, who 
worked him slippers, sugared his tea, and adored him as 
‘ a devoted man ’; but a manly respect, wrung from the 
unwilling souls of men who fancied his order their natural 
enemies ; the fear and hatred of every one who was false 
or unjust in the district, were he master or man ; and the 
blessed sight of women and children daily becoming more 
human and more homely, a comfort to themselves and to 
their husbands and fathers. 

These things of course took time, and had to be fought 
for with toil and sweat of brain and heart, and with the 
267 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

life-blood poured out. All that, Arthur had laid his 
account to give, and took as a matter of course ; neither 
pitying himself, nor looking on himself as a martyr, when 
he felt the wear and tear making him feel old before his 
time, and the stifling air of fever dens telling on his health. 
His wife seconded him in everything. She had been 
rather fond of society, and much admired and run after 
before her marriage ; and the London world, to which 
she had belonged, pitied poor Fanny Evelyn when she 
married the young clergyman and went to settle in that 
smoky hole Turley, a very nest of Chartism and Atheism, 
in a part of the county which all the decent families had 
had to leave for years. However, somehow or other she 
didn't seem to care. If her husband's living had been 
among green fields and near pleasant neighbors, she 
would have liked it better, that she never pretended to 
deny. But there they were : the air wasn't bad after all ; 
the people were very good sort of people, civil to you if 
you were civil to them, after the first brush ; and they 
didn't expect to work miracles, and convert them all off- 
hand into model Christians. So he and she went quietly 
among the folk, talking to and treating them just as they 
would have done people of their own rank. They didn't 
feel that they were doing anything out of the common 
way, and so were perfectly natural, and had none of that 
condescension or consciousness of manner which so out- 
rages the independent poor. And thus they gradually won 
respect and confidence ; and after sixteen years he was 
looked up to by the whole neighborhood as the just man, 
268 


The New Boy 

the man to whom masters and men could go in their 
striked, and all in their quarrels and difficulties, and by 
whom the right and true word would be said without fear 
or favor. And the women had come round to take her 
advice, and go to her as a friend in all their troubles ; while 
the children all worshipped the very ground she trod on. 

They had three children, two daughters and a son, 
little Arthur, who came between his sisters. He had 
been a very delicate boy from his childhood ; they thought 
he had a tendency to consumption, and so he had been 
kept at home and taught by his father, who had made a 
companion of him, and from whom he had gained good 
scholarship, and a knowledge of and interest in many sub- 
jects which boys in general never come across till they 
are many years older. 

Just as he reached his thirteenth year, and his father 
had settled that he was strong enough to go to school, 
and, after much debating with himself, had resolved to 
send him there, a desperate typhus fever broke out in the 
town ; most of the other clergy, and almost all the doc- 
tors, ran away ; the work fell with tenfold weight on those 
who stood to their work. Arthur and his wife both caught 
the fever, of which he died in a few days, and she recov- 
ered, having been able to nurse him to the end, and store 
up his last words. He was sensible to the last, and calm 
and happy, leaving his wife and children with fearless trust 
for a few years in the hands of the Lord and Friend who 
had lived and died for him, and for whom he, to the best of 
his power, had lived and died. His widow’s mourning was 
269 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

deep and gentle ; she was more affected by the request of 
the Committee of a Freethinking Club, establishea in the 
town by some of the factory hands (which he had striven 
against with might and main, and nearly suppressed), that 
some of their number might be allowed to help bear the 
coffin, than by anything else. 

Two of them were chosen, who with six other laboring 
men, his own fellow workmen and friends, bore him to 
his grave — a man who had fought the Lord’s fight even 
unto death. The shops were closed and the factories 
shut that day in the parish, yet no master stopped the 
day’s wages ; but for many a year afterward the townsfolk 
felt the want of that brave, hopeful, loving parson, and his 
wife, who had lived to teach them mutual forbearance and 
helpfulness, and had almost at last given them a glimpse 
of what this old world would be if people would live for 
God and each other, instead of for themselves. 

What has all this to do with our story? Well, my 
dear boys, let a fellow go on his own way, or you won’t 
get anything out of him worth having. I must show you 
what sort of a man it was who had begotten and trained 
little Arthur, or else you won’t believe in him, which I am 
resolved you shall do ; and you won’t see how he, the 
timid, weak boy, had points in him from which the bravest 
and strongest recoiled, and made his presence and example 
felt from the first on all sides, unconsciously to himself, 
and without the least attempt at proselytizing. The spirit 
of his father was in him, and the Friend to whom his father 
had left him did not neglect the trust. 

270 


The New Boy 

At\er supper that night, and almost nightly for years 
afterward, Tom and Arthur, and by degrees East occa- 
sionally! and sometimes one, sometimes another, of their 
friends, \ead a chapter of the Bible together, and talked 
it over afterward. Tom was at first utterly astonished, 
and almost shocked, at the sort of way in which Arthur 
read the book, and talked about the men and women 
whose lives were there told. The first night they hap- 
pened to fall on the chapters about the famine in Egypt, 
and Arthur began talking about Joseph as if he were a 
living statesman ; just as he might have talked about Lord 
Grey and the Reform Bill ; only that they were much more 
living realities to him. The book was to him, Tom saw, 
the most vivid and delightful history of real people, who 
might do right or wrong, just like any one who was walk- 
ing about in Rugby — the Doctor, or the masters, or the 
sixth-form boys. But the astonishment soon passed ofiF, 
the scales seemed to drop from his eyes, and the book be- 
came at once and forever to him the great human and 
divine book, and the men and women, whom he had 
looked upon as something quite different from himself, 
became his friends and counsellors. 

For our purposes, however, the history of one night's 
reading will be sufficient, which must be told here, now 
we are on the subject, though it didn't happen till a year 
afterward, and long after the events recorded in the next 
chapter of our story. 

Arthur, Tom, and East were together one night, and 
read the story of Naaman coming to Elisha to be cured 
271 



Tom Brown’s School Days 

of his leprosy. When the chapter was finished, Tom shut 
his Bible with a slap. 

‘‘I can’t stand that fellow, Naaman,” said ha, “after 
what he’d seen and felt, going back and bowing himself 
down in the house of Rimmon, because his effeminate 
scoundrel of a master did it. I wonder Elisha took the 
trouble to heal him. How he must have despised 
him.” 

“Yes, there you go off as usual, with a s!iell on your 
head,” struck in East, who always took the opposite side 
to Tom ; half from love of argument, half from conviction. 
“ How do you know he didn’t think better of it ? how do 
you know his master was a scoundrel ? His letter don’t 
look like it, and the book don’t say so.” 

“1 don’t care,” rejoined Tom ; “why did Naaman 
talk about bowing down, then, if he didn’t mean to do 
it ? He wasn’t likely to get more in earnest when he 
got back to court, and away from the prophet.” 

“Well but, Tom,” said Arthur, “ look what Elisha 
says to him, ‘ Go in peace.’ He wouldn’t have said that 
if Naaman had been in the wrong!” 

“ I don’t see that that means more than saying, 
‘You’re not the man I took you for.’” 

“ No, no, that won’t do at all,” said East ; “ read the 
words fairly, and take men as you find them. I like 
Naaman, and think he was a very fine fellow.” 

“ I don’t,” said Tom, positively. 

“ Well, I think East is right,” said Arthur ; “ I can’t 
see but what it’s right to do the best you can, though it 
272 



/ 














The New Boy 

mayn’t be the best absolutely. Every man isn’t born to 
be a martyr.” 

“ Of course, of course,” said East ; but he’s on one 
of his pet hobbies. How often have I told you, Tom, 
that you must drive a nail where it’ll go.” 

‘‘And how often have I told you,” rejoined Tom, 
“ that it’ll always go where you want, if you only stick 
to it and hit hard enough. I hate half measures and 
compromises.” 

“Yes, he’s a whole-hog man, is Tom. Must have 
the whole animal, hair and teeth, claws and tail,” laughed 
East. “ Sooner have no bread any day than half the loaf.” 

“I don’t know,” said Arthur, “it’s rather puzzling; 
but ain’t most right things got by proper compromises, 
I mean where the principle isn’t given up ? ” 

“That’s just the point,” said Tom; “I don’t object 
to a compromise where you don’t give up your principle.” 

“ Not you,” said East, laughingly. “ I know him of 
old, Arthur, and you’ll find him out some day. There 
isn’t such a reasonable fellow in the world, to hear him 
talk. He never wants anything but what’s right and 
fair ; only when you come to settle what’s right and fair, 
it’s everything that he wants, and nothing that you want. 
And that’s his idea of a compromise. Give me the 
Brown compromise when I’m on his side.” 

“Now, Harry,” said Tom, “no more chaff — I’m 
serious. Look here — this is what makes my blood tingle ”; 
and he turned over the pages of his Bible and read, 
“ Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego answered and said 

273 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

to the king, ‘O Nebuchadnezzar, we are not careful to 
answer thee in this matter. If it be so, our God whom 
we serve is able to deliver us from the burning fiery fur- 
nace, and He will deliver us out of thine hand, O king. 
But if not^ be it known unto thee, O king, that we will 
not serve thy gods, nor worship the golden image which 
thou hast set up.”' He read the last verse twice, em- 
phasizing the nots, and dwelling on them as if they gave 
him actual pleasure, and were hard to part with. 

They were silent a minute, and then Arthur said, 
“Yes, that's a glorious story, but it don't prove your 
point, Tom, I think. There are times when there is 
only one way, and that the highest, and then the men 
are found to stand in the breach." 

“ There's always a highest way, and it's always the 
right one," said Tom, “ How many times has the Doctor 
told us that in his sermons in the last year, I should like 
to know? " 

“Well, you ain't going to convince us, is he, Arthur? 
No Brown compromise to-night," said East, looking at 
his watch. “ But it's past eight, and we must go to first 
lesson. What a bore ! " 

So they took down their books and fell to work ; 
but Arthur didn't forget, and thought long and often over 
the conversation. 


274 


CHAPTER III 

ARTHUR MAKES A FRIEND 


“ Let Nature be your teacher: 

Sweet is the lore which Nature brings; 

Our meddling intellect 

Misshapes the beauteous forms of things. 

We murder to dissect — 

Enough of Science and of Art; 

Close up those barren leaves; 

Come forth, and bring with you a heart 
That watches and receives.” — Wordsworth 

A BOUT six weeks after the beginning of the half, as 
Tom and Arthur were sitting one night before 
supper beginning their verses, Arthur suddenly 
stopped, and looked up, and said, “Tom, do you know 
anything of Martin ? ” 

“Yes,” said Tom, taking his hand out of his back 
hair, and delighted to throw his Gradus ad Parnassum on- 
to the sofa ; “ I know him pretty well. He's a very good 
fellow, but as mad as a hatter. He's called Madman, 
you know. And never was such a fellow for getting all 
sorts of rum things about him. He tamed two snakes 
last half, and used to carry them about in his pocket, and 
I'll be bound he's got some hedgehogs and rats in his 
cupboard now, and no one knows what besides.” 

“ I should like very much to know him,” said Arthur ; 
he was next to me in the form to-day, and he'd lost his 

275 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

book and looked over mine, and he seemed so kind and 
gentle, that I liked him very much.’' 

“Ah, poor old Madman, he’s always losing his books,” 
said Tom, “and getting called up and floored because he 
hasn’t got them.” 

“ I like him all the better,” said Arthur. 

“Well, he’s great fun, I can tell you,” said Tom, 
tnrowing himself back on the sofa, and chuckling at the 
remembrance. “We had such a game with him one day last 
half. He had been kicking up horrid stinks for some 
time in his study, till I suppose some fellow told Mary, 
and she told the Doctor. Anyhow, one day a little before 
dinner, when he came down from the library, the Doctor, 
instead of going home, came striding into the Hall. East 
and I and five or six other fellows were at the fire, and 
preciously we stared, for he don’t come in like that once 
a year, unless it is a wet day and there’s a fight in the 
Hall. ‘ East,’ says he, ‘just come and show me Martin’s 
study.’ ‘ Oh, here’s a game,’ whispered the rest of us, 
and we all cut upstairs after the Doctor, East leading. 
As we got into the New Row, which was hardly wide 
enough to hold the Doctor and his gown, click, click, 
click, we heard in the old Madman’s den. Then that 
stopped all of a sudden, and the bolts went to like fun : 
the Madman knew East’s step, and thought there was 
going to be a siege. 

“ ‘ It’s the Doctor, Martin. He’s here and wants to 
see you,’ sings out East. 

“ Then the bolts went back slowly, and the door 
276 


Arthur Makes a Friend 


Opened, and there was the old Madman standing, look- 
ing precious scared ; his jacket off, his shirt-sleeves up 
to his elbows, and his long skinny arms all covered with 
anchors and arrows and letters, tattooed in with gunpowder 
like a sailor boy’s, and a stink fit to knock you down 
coming out. ’Twas all the Doctor could do to stand his 
ground, and East and I, who were looking in under his 
armsj held our noses tight. The old magpie was stand- 
ing on the window-sill, all his feathers drooping, and 
looking disgusted and half poisoned. 

“ ‘ What can you be about, Martin ?’ says the Doctor ; 
‘ you really musn’t go on in this way — you’re a nuisance 
to the whole passage.’ 

“ ‘ Please, Sir, I was only mixing up this powder, 
there isn’t any harm in it ’; and the Madman seized ner- 
vously on his pestle and mortar, to show the Doctor the 
harmlessness of his pursuits, and went off pounding; 
click, click, click; he hadn’t given six clicks before, puff! 
up went the whole into a great blaze, away went the 
pestle and mortar across the study, and back we tumbled 
into the passage. The magpie fluttered down into the 
court, swearing, and the Madman danced out, howling, 
with his fingers in his mouth. The Doctor caught hold 
of him, and called to us to fetch some water. ‘ There, 
you silly fellow,’ said he, quite pleased though to find he 
wasn’t much hurt, ‘ you see you don’t know the least 
what you’re doing with all these things ; and now, mind, 
you must give up practicing chemistry by yourself.’ 
Then he took hold of his arm and looked at it, and .1 
277 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

saw he had to bite his lip, and his eyes twinkled ; but he 
said, quite grave, ‘ Here, you see, you’ve been making all 
these foolish marks on yourself, which you can never get 
out, and you’ll be very sorry for it in a year or two : now 
come down to the housekeeper’s room, and let us see if 
you are hurt.’ And away went the two, and we all stayed 
and had a regular turn-out of the den, till Martin came 
back with his hand bandaged and turned us out. How- 
ever, I’ll go and see what he’s after, and tell him to come 
in after prayers to supper.” And away went Tom to 
find the boy in question, who dwelt in a little study by 
himself, in New Row. 

The aforesaid Martin, whom Arthur had taken such 
a fancy for, was one of those unfortunates who were at 
that time of day (and are, I fear, still) quite out of their 
places at a public school. If we knew how to use our 
boys, Martin would have been seized upon and educated 
as a natural philosopher. He had a passion for birds, 
beasts, and insects, and knew more of them and their 
habits than any one in Rugby ; except perhaps the 
Doctor, who knew everything. He was also an experi- 
mental chemist on a small scale, and had made unto him- 
self an electric machine, from which it was his greatest 
pleasure and glory to administer small shocks to any 
small boys who were rash enough to venture into his 
study. And this was by no means an adventure free from 
excitement ; for, besides the probability of a snake drop- 
ping on to your head or twining lovingly up your leg, or 
a rat getting into your breeches pocket in search of food, 
278 


Arthur Makes a Friend 


there was the animal and chemical odor to be faced, which 
always hung about the den, and the chance of being 
blown up in some of the many experiments which Mar- 
tin was always trying, with the most wondrous results in 
the shape of explosions and smells that mortal boy ever 
heard of. Of course, poor Martin, in consequence of his 
pursuits, had become an Ishmaelite in the house. In the 
first place, he half-poisoned all his neighbors, and they 
in turn were always on the lookout to pounce upon any 
of his numerous live stock, and drive him frantic by en- 
ticing his pet magpie out of his window into a neighbor- 
ing study, and making the disreputable old bird drunk on 
toast soaked in beer and sugar. Then Martin, for his 
sins, inhabited a study looking into a small court some 
ten feet across, the window of which was completely com- 
manded by those of the studies opposite in the Sick- 
room Row, these latter being at a slightly higher 
elevation. East, and another boy of an equally tormenting 
and ingenious turn of mind, now lived exactly opposite, 
and had expended huge pains and time in the prep- 
aration of instruments of annoyance for the behoof of 
Martin and his live colony. One morning an old basket 
made its appearance, suspended by a short cord outside 
Martin's window, in which were deposited an amateur 
nest containing four young hungry jackdaws, the pride 
and glory of Martin's life for the time being, and which 
he was currently asserted to have hatched upon his own 
person. Early in the morning and late at night he was 
to be seen half out of window, administering to the varied 
279 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

wants of his callow brood. After deep cogitation, East 
and his chum had spliced a knife on to the end of a fish- 
ing-rod ; and having watched Martin out, had, after half- 
an-hour's severe sawing, cut the string by which the 
basket was suspended, and tumbled it on to the pavement 
below, with hideous remonstrance from the occupants. 
Poor Martin, returning from his short absence, collected 
the fragments and replaced his brood (except one whose 
neck had been broken in the descent) in their old loca- 
tion, suspending them this time by string and wire 
twisted together, defiant of any sharp instrument which 
his persecutors could command. But, like the Russian 
engineers at Sebastopol, East and his chum had an answer 
for every move of the adversary ; and the next day had 
mounted a gun in the shape of a pea-shooter upon the 
ledge of their window, trained so as to bear exactly upon 
the spot which Martin had to occupy while tending his 
nurselings. The moment he began to feed, they began 
to shoot ; in vain did the enemy himself invest in a pea- 
shooter, and endeavor to answer the fire while he fed the 
young birds with his other hand ; his attention was divided, 
and his shots flew wild, while every one of theirs told on 
his face and hands, and drove him into bowlings and im- 
precations. He had been driven to ensconce the next in 
a corner of his already too-well-filled den. 

His door was barricaded by a set of ingenious bolts 
of his own invention, for the sieges were frequent by the 
neighbors when any unusually ambrosial odor spread 
itself from the den to the neighboring studies. The door 
280 


Arthur Makes a Friend 


panels were in a normal state of smash, but the frame of 
the door resisted all besiegers, and behind it the owner 
carried on his various pursuits ; much in the same state 
of mind, I should fancy, as a Border-farmer lived in, in 
the days of the old mosstroopers, when his hold might 
be summoned or his cattle carried off at any minute of 
night or day. 

Open, Martin, old boy — it's only I, Tom Brown." 

Oh, very well, stop a moment." One bolt went 
back. ‘‘ You're sure East isn't there ? " 

“ No, no, hang it, open." Tom gave a kick, the 
other bolt creaked, and he entered the den. 

Den indeed it was, about five feet six inches long by 
five wide, and seven feet high. About six tattered school- 
books, and a few chemical books. Taxidermy, Stanley on 
Birds, and an odd volume of Bewick, the latter in much 
better preservation, occupied the top shelves. The other 
shelves, where they had not been cut away and used by 
the owner for other purposes, were fitted up for the abid- 
ing places of birds, beasts and reptiles. There was no at- 
tempt at carpet or curtain. The table was entirely occu- 
pied by the great work of Martin, the electric machine, 
which was covered carefully with the remains of his table- 
cloth. The jackdaw cage occupied one wall, and the other 
was adorned by a small hatchet, a pair of climbing irons, 
and his tin candle-box, in which he was for the time being 
endeavoring to raise a hopeful young family of field-mice. 
As nothing should be let to lie useless, it was well that 
the candle-box was thus occupied, for candles Martin 
281 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

never had. A pound was issued to him weekly, as to the 
other boys, but as candles were available capital, and eas- 
ily exchangeable for birds* eggs or young birds, Martin’s 
pound invariably found its way in a few hours to How- 
lett’s the bird-fancier’s, in the Bilton Road, who would 
give a hawk’s or nightingale’s egg or young linnet in ex- 
change. Martin’s ingenuity was therefore forever on the 
rack to supply himself with a light ; just now he had hit 
upon a grand invention, and the den was lighted by a flar- 
ing cotton-wick issuing from a ginger-beer bottle full of 
some doleful composition. When light altogether failed 
him, Martin would loaf about by the fires in the passages 
or Hall, after the manner of Diggs, and try to do his verses 
or learn his lines by the fire-light. 

“Well, old boy, you haven’t got any sweeter in the 
den this half. How that stuffin the bottle stinks. Never 
mind, I ain’t going to stop, but you come up after prayers 
to our study ; you know young Arthur ; we’ve got Gray’s 
study. We’ll have a good supper and talk about birds’- 
nesting.” 

Martin was evidently highly pleased at the invitation, 
and promised to be up without fail. 

As soon as prayers were over, and the sixth and fifth 
form boys had withdrawn to the aristocratic seclusion of 
their own room, and the rest, or democracy, had sat down 
to their supper in the Hall, Tom and Arthur, having se- 
cured their allowances of bread and cheese, started on their 
feet to catch the eye of the praepostor of the week, who 
remained in charge during supper, walking up and down 
283 


Arthur Makes a Friend 


the Hall. He happened to be an easy-going fellow, so 
they got a pleasant nod to their Please may I go out ? ’’ 
and away they scrambled to prepare for Martin a sump- 
tuous banquet. This Tom had insisted on, for he was in 
great delight on the occasion ; the reason of which delight 
must be expounded. The fact was, this was the first at- 
tempt at a friendship of his own which Arthur had made, 
and Tom hailed it as a grand step. The ease with which 
he himself became hail-fellow-well-met with anybody, 
and blundered into and out of twenty friendships a half 
year, made him sometimes sorry and sometimes angry at 
Arthur’s reserve and loneliness. 

True, Arthur was always pleasant, and even jolly, 
with any boys who came with Tom to their study ; but 
Tom felt that it was only through him, as it were, that his 
chum associated with others, and that but for him Arthur 
would have been dwelling in a wilderness. This in- 
creased his consciousness of responsibility ; and though 
he hadn’t reasoned it out and made it clear to himself, 
yet somehow he knew that this responsibility, this trust 
which he had taken on him without thinking about it, 
head-over-heels in fact, was the centre and turning-point 
of his school-life, that which was to make him or mar 
him ; his appointed work and trial for the time being. 
And Tom was becoming a new boy, though with fre- 
quent tumbles in the dirt and perpetual hard battle with 
himself, and was daily growing in manfulness and 
thoughtfulness, as every high-couraged and well-prin- 
cipled boy must, when he finds himself for the first time 
283 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

consciously at grips with self and the devil. Already he 
could turn, almost without a sigh, from the school-gates, 
from which had just scampered off East and three or 
four others of his own particular set, bound for some 
jolly lark not quite according to law, and involving 
probably a row with louts, keepers, or farm-laborers, the 
skipping dinner or calling-over, some of Phoebe Jennings’ 
beer, and a very possible flogging at the end of all as a 
relish. He had quite got over the stage in which he would 
grumble to himself, ‘‘Well, hang it, it’s very hard of the 
Doctor to have saddled me with Arthur. Why couldn’t 
he have chummed him with Fogey, or Thomkin, or any 
of the fellows who never do anything but walk round the 
close, and finish their copies the first day they’re set ? ” 
But although all this was past, he often longed, and felt 
that he was right in longing, for more time for the legiti- 
mate pastimes of cricket, fives, bathing and fishing within 
bounds, in which Arthur could not yet be his com- 
panion ; and he felt that when the young ’un (as he now 
generally called him) had found a pursuit and some other 
friend for himself, he should be able to give more time to 
the education of his own body with a clear conscience. 

And now what he so wished for had come to pass ; he 
almost hailed it as a special providence (as indeed it was, 
but not for the reasons he gave for it — what providences 
are?) that Arthur should have singled out Martin of all 
fellows for a friend. “ The old Madman is the very 
fellow,” thought he ; “ he will take him scrambling over 
half the country after birds’ eggs and flowers, make him 
284 


Arthur Makes a Friend 


run and swim and climb like an Indian, and not teach 
him a word of anything bad, or keep him from his 
lessons. What luck ! And so, with more than his 
usual heartiness, he dived into his cupboard, and hauled 
out an old knuckle-bone of ham, and two or three bottles 
of beer, together with the solemn pewter only used on 
state occasions ; while Arthur, equally elated at the easy 
accomplishment of his first act of volition in the joint 
establishment, produced from his side a bottle of pickles 
and a pot of jam, and cleared the table. In a minute or 
two the noise of the boys coming up from supper was 
heard, and Martin knocked and was admitted, bearing 
his bread and cheese, and the three fell to with hearty 
good-will upon the viands, talking faster than they ate, 
for all shyness disappeared in a moment before Tom’s 
bottled beer and hospitable ways. Here’s Arthur, a 
regular young town mouse, with a natural taste for the 
woods, Martin, longing to break his neck climbing trees, 
and with a passion for young snakes.” 

‘‘Well, I say,” sputtered out Martin, eagerly, “will 
you come to-morrow, both of you, to Caldecott’s Spin- 
ney, then, for I know of a kestrel’s nest, up a fir-tree — I 
can’t get at it without help ; and. Brown, you can climb 
against any one.” 

“ Oh yes, do let us go,” said Arthur ; “ I never saw 
a hawk’s nest, nor a hawk’s egg.” 

“ You just come down to my study then, and I’ll 
show you five sorts,” said Martin. 

“ Ay, the old Madman has got the best collection in 
285 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

the house, out-and-out,” said Tom; and then Martin, 
warming with unaccustomed good cheer and the chance 
of a convert, launched out into a proposed birds’-nesting 
campaign, betraying all manner of important secrets ; a 
golden-crested wren's nest near Butlin’s Mound, a moor- 
hen that was sitting on nine eggs in a pond down the 
Barby Road, and a kingfisher’s nest in a corner of the 
old canal above Brownsover Mill. He had heard, he 
said, that no one had ever got a kingfisher’s nest out 
perfect, and that the British Museum, or the Government, 
or somebody, had offered ;^ioo to any one who could 
bring them a nest and eggs not damaged. In the middle 
of which astounding announcement, to which the others 
were listening with open ears, already considering the 
application of the a knock came at the door, and 

East’s voice was heard craving admittance. 

‘‘There’s Harry,” said Tom; “we’ll let him in — I’ll 
keep him steady, Martin. I thought the old boy would 
smell out the supper.” 

The fact was that Tom’s heart had already smitten 
him for not asking his “ fidus Achates ” to the feast, 
although only an extempore affair ; and though prudence 
and the desire to get Martin and Arthur together alone 
at first had overcome his scruples, he was now heartily 
glad to open the door, broach another bottle of beer, and 
hand over the old ham-knuckle to the searching of his 
old friend’s pocket knife. 

“Ah, you greedy vagabonds,” said East, with his 
mouth full ; “ I knew there was sortiething going on 
286 


Arthur Makes a Friend 


when I saw you cut off out of Hall so quick with your 
suppers. What a stunning tap, Tom ! you are a wunner 
for bottling the swipes.’* 

“ IVe had practice enough for the sixth in my time, 
and it’s hard if I haven’t picked up a wrinkle or two for 
my own benefit.” 

Well, old Madman, how goes the birds’-nesting 
campaign? How’s Howlett? I expect the young 
rooks’ll be out in another fortnight, and then my turn 
comes.” 

There’ll be no young rooks fit for pies for a month 
yet; shows how much you know about it,” rejoined 
Martin, who, though very good friends with East, re- 
garded him with considerable suspicion for his propensity 
to practical jokes. 

‘‘ Scud knows nothing and cares for nothing but 
grub and mischief,” said Tom; “but young rook pie, 
specially when you’ve had to climb for them, is very 
pretty eating. However, I say. Scud, we’re all going 
after a hawk’s nest to-morrow, in Caldecott’s Spinney ; 
and if you’ll come and behave yourself, we’ll have a 
stunning climb.” 

“And a bathe in Aganippe. Hooray! I’m your 
man 1 ” 

“ No, no ; no bathing in Aganippe ; that’s where our 
betters go.” 

“ Well, well, never mind. I’m for the hawk’s nest 
and anything that turns up.” 

And the bottled-beer being finished, and his hunger 
287 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

appeased, East departed to his study, that Sneak Jones,*' 
as he informed them, who had just got into the sixth 
and occupied the next study, having instituted a nightly 
visitation upon East and his chum, to their no small 
discomfort. 

When he was gone, Martin rose to follow, but Tom 
stopped him. ‘‘No one goes near New Row,” said he, 
“ so you may just as well stop here and do your verses, 
and then we’ll have some more talk. We’ll be no end 
quiet ; besides, no praepostor comes here now — we haven’t 
been visited once this half.” 

So the table was cleared, the cloth restored, and the 
three fell to work with Gradus and dictionary upon the 
morning’s vulgus. 

They were three very fair examples of the way in 
which such tasks were done at Rugby, in the consulship 
of Plancus. And doubtless the method is little changed, 
for there is nothing new under the sun, especially at 
schools. 

Now be it known unto all you boys who are at schools 
which do not rejoice in the time-honored institution of 
the Vulgus (commonly supposed to have been established 
by William of Wykeham at Winchester, and imported 
to Rugby by Arnold, more for the sake of the lines 
which were learned by heart with it, than for its own in- 
trinsic value, as I’ve always understood) that it is a short 
exercise, in Greek or Latin verse, on a given subject, the 
minimum number of lines being fixed for each form. 
The master of the form gave out at fourth lesson on the 
288 


Arthur Makes a Friend 


previous day the subject for next morning’s vulgus, and 
at first lesson each boy had to bring his vulgus ready to 
be looked over ; and with the vulgus, a certain number 
of lines from one of the Latin or Greek poets then being 
construed in the form had to be got by heart. The 
master at first lesson called up each boy in the form in 
order, and put him on in the lines. If he couldn’t say 
them, or seem to say them, by reading them off the 
master’s or some other boy’s book who stood near, he 
was sent back, and went below all the boys who did so 
say or seem to say them ; but in either case his vulgus 
was looked over by the master, who gave and entered in 
his book, to the credit or discredit of the boy, so many 
marks as the composition merited. At Rugby vulgus 
and lines were the first lesson every other day in the 
week, or Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays ; and as 
there were thirty-eight weeks in the school year, it is 
obvious to the meanest capacity that the master of each 
form had to set one hundred and fourteen subjects every 
year, two hundred and twenty-eight every two years, and 
so on. 

Now to persons of moderate invention this was a 
considerable task, and human nature being prone to 
repeat itself, it will not be wondered that the masters 
gave the same subjects sometimes over again after a cer- 
tain lapse of time. To meet and rebuke this bad habit 
of the master, the schoolboy-mind, with its accustomed 
ingenuity, had invented an elaborate system of tradition. 
Almost every boy kept his own vulgus written out in a 
289 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

book, and these books were duly handed down from boy 
to boy, till (if the tradition has gone on till now) I sup- 
pose the popular boys, in whose hands bequeathed vul- 
gus-books have accumulated, are prepared with three or 
four vulguses on any subject in heaven or earth, or in 
‘‘more worlds than one,*' which an unfortunate master 
can pitch upon. At any rate, such lucky fellows had 
generally one for themselves and one for a friend in my 
time. 

The only objection to the traditionary method of 
doing your vulguses was, the risk that the successions 
might have become confused, and so that you and an- 
other follower of traditions should show up the same 
identical vulgus some fine morning ; in which case, when 
it happened, considerable grief was the result — but when 
did such risk hinder boys or men from short cuts and 
pleasant paths ? 

Now in the study that night, Tom was the upholder 
of the traditionary method of vulgus doing. He care- 
fully produced two large vulgus-books, and began diving 
into them, and picking out a line here, and an ending 
there (tags, as they were vulgarly called), till he had 
gotten all that he thought he could make fit. He then 
proceeded to patch his tags together with the help of his 
Gradus, producing an incongruous and feeble result of 
eight elegiac lines, the minimum quantity for his form, 
and finishing up with two highly moral lines extra, mak- 
ing ten in all, which he cribbed entire from one of his 
books, beginning “ O genus humanum,*' and which he 
290 


Arthur Makes a Friend 


himself must have used a dozen times before, whenever 
an unfortunate or wicked hero, of whatever nation or 
language under the sun, was the subject. Indeed, he 
began to have great doubts whether the master wouldn’t 
remember them, and so only threw them in as extra lines, 
because in any case they would call off attention from 
the other tags, and if detected, being extra lines, he 
wouldn’t be sent back to do two more in their place, 
while if they passed muster again he would get marks 
for them. 

The second method pursued by Martin may be called 
the dogged, or prosaic method. He, no more than Tom, 
took any pleasure in the task, but having no old vulgus- 
books of his own, or any one’s else, could not follow the 
traditionary method, for which too, as Tom remarked, he 
hadn’t the genius. Martin proceeded to write down eight 
lines in English, of the most matter-of-fact kind, the first 
that came into his head, and to convert these, line by line, 
by main force of Gradus and dictionary, into Latin that 
would scan. This was all he cared for, to produce eight 
lines with no false quantities or concords : whether the 
words were apt, or what the sense was, mattered nothing ; 
and, as the article was all new, not a line beyond the 
minimum did the followers of the dogged method ever 
produce. 

The third, or artistic, method was Arthur’s. He con- 
sidered first what point in the character or event which 
was the subject could most neatly be brought out within 
the limits of a vulgus, trying always to get his idea into the 
291 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

eight lines, but not binding himself to ten or even twelve 
lines if he couldn’t do this. He then set to work, 
as much as possible without Gradus or other help, 
to clothe his idea in appropriate Latin or Greek, and 
would not be satisfied till he had polished it well up 
with the aptest and most poetic words and phrases he 
could get at. 

A fourth method indeed was used in the school, but 
of too simple a kind to require a comment. It may be 
called the vicarious method, obtained among big boys of 
lazy or bullying habits, and consisted simply in making 
clever boys whom they could thrash do their whole vul- 
gus for them, and construe it to them afterward ; which 
latter is a method not to be encouraged, and which I 
strongly advise you all not to practice. Of the others, 
you will find the traditionary most troublesome, unless 
you can steal your vulguses whole (experto crede), and 
that the artistic method pays the best both in marks 
and other ways. 

The vulguses being finished by nine o’clock, and Mar- 
tin having rejoiced above measure in the abundance of 
light, and of Gradus and dictionary, and other conven- 
iences almost unknown to him for getting through the 
work, and having been pressed by Arthur to come and do 
his verses there whenever he liked, the three boys went 
down to Martin’s den, and Arthur was initiated into the 
lore of birds’ eggs, to his great delight. The exquisite 
coloring and forms astonished and charmed him who had 
scarcely ever seen any but a hen’s egg or an ostrich’s^ 
292 


Arthur Makes a Friend 


and by the time he was lugged away to bed he had learned 
the names of at least twenty sorts, and dreamed of the 
glorious perils of tree climbing and that he had found a 
roc’s egg in the island as big as Sinbad’s and clouded like 
a tit-lark’s, in blowing which Martin and he had nearly 
been drowned in the yolk. 


293 


CHAPTER IV 

THE BIRD-FANCIERS 


“ I have found out a gift for my fair, 

I have found where the wood-pigeons breed : 


But let me the plunder forbear, 

She would say ’twas a barbarous deed.” 


— Rowe 


“ And now, my lad, take them five ^hilling, 
And on my advice in future think; 


So Billy pouched them all so willing. 

And got that night disguised in drink.” 


—MS. Ballad 


HE next morning at first lesson Tom was turned 



back in his lines, and so had to wait till the sec- 


ond round, while Martin and Arthur said theirs 
all right and got out of school at once. When Tom got 
out and ran down to breakfast at HarrowelFs they were 
missing, and Stumps informed him that they had swallowed 
down their breakfasts and gone off together, where, he 
couldn't say. Tom hurried over his own breakfast, and 
went first to Martin's study and then to his own, but no 
signs of the missing boys were to be found. He felt half 
angry and jealous of Martin — ^where could they be gone ? 

He learned second lesson with East and the rest in 
no very good temper, and then went out into the quad- 
rangle. About ten minutes before school Martin and 
Arthur arrived in the quadrangle breathless ; and catching 
sight of him, Arthur rushed up all excitement and with a 
bright glow on his face. 


294 


The Bird-Fanciers 


“ Oh, Tom, look here,” cried he, holding out three 
moor-hen’s eggs ; “ we’ve been down the Barby Road to 
the pool Martin told us of last night, and just see what 
we’ve got.” 

Tom wouldn’t be pleased, and only looked out for 
something to find fault with. 

‘‘ Why, young un,” said he, “ what have you been 
after ? You don’t mean to say you’ve been wading ? ” 

The tone of reproach made poor little Arthur shrink 
up in a moment and look piteous, and Tom with a shrug 
of his shoulders turned his anger on Martin. 

^‘Well, I didn’t think. Madman, that you’d have 
been such a muff as to let him be getting wet through 
at this time of day. You might have done the wading 
yourself.” 

‘‘ So I did, of course, only he would come in too to 
see the nest. We left six eggs in ; they’ll be hatched in 
a day or two.” 

Hang the eggs ! ” said Tom ; a fellow can’t turn 
his back for a moment but all his work’s undone. He’ll 
be laid up for a week for this precious lark. I’ll be 
bound.” 

‘‘Indeed, Tom, now,” pleaded Arthur, “my feet 
ain’t wet, for Martin made me take off my shoes and 
stockings and trousers.” 

“ But they are wet and dirty, too — can’t I see ? ” 
answered Tom; “and you’ll be called up and floored 
when the master sees what a state you’re in. You haven’t 
looked at second lesson, you know.” Oh, Tom, you old 
295 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

humbug ! you to be upbraiding any one with not learn- 
ing their lessons ! If you hadn't been floored yourself 
now at first lesson, do you mean to say you wouldn't 
have been with them ? and you've taken away all poor 
little Arthur's joy and pride in his first birds' eggs ; and 
he goes and puts them down in the study, and takes 
down his books with a sigh, thinking he has done some- 
thing horribly wrong, whereas he has learned on in 
advance much more than will be done at second lesson. 

But the old Madman hasn't, and gets called up and 
makes some frightful shots, losing about ten places, and 
all but getting floored. This somewhat appeases Tom's 
wrath, and by the end of the lesson he has regained his 
temper. And afterward in their study he begins to get 
right again, as he watches Arthur's intense joy at seeing 
Martin blowing the eggs and gluing them carefully on 
to bits of cardboard, and notes the anxious loving looks 
which the little fellow casts sidelong at him. And then he 
thinks, ‘‘ What an ill-tempered beast I am ! Here's just 
what I was wishing for last night come about, and I'm 
spoiling it all," and in another five minutes has swallowed 
the last mouthful of his bile, and is repaid by seeing his 
little sensitive plant expand again, and sun itself in his 
smiles. 

After dinner the Madman is busy with the prepara- 
tions for their expedition, fitting new straps on to his 
climbing irons, filling large pill-boxes with cotton wool, 
and sharpening East's small axe. They carry all their 
munitions into calling-over, and directly afterward, having 
296 


The Bird-Fanciers 


dodged such praepostors as are on the lookout for fags 
at cricket, the four set off at a smart trot down the Law- 
ford footpath straight for Caldecott’s Spinney and the 
hawk’s nest. 

Martin leads the way in high feather; it is quite a new 
sensation to him getting companions, and he finds it 
very pleasant, and means to show them all manner of 
proofs of his science and skill. Brown and East may 
be better at cricket and football and games, thinks he, 
but out in the fields and woods see if I can’t teach them 
something. He has taken the leadership already, and 
strides away in front with his climbing-irons strapped 
under one arm, his pecking-bag under the other, and his 
pockets and hat full of pill-boxes, cotton wool and other 
etceteras. Each of the others carries a pecking-bag, and 
East his hatchet. 

When they had crossed three or four fields without a 
check, Arthur began to lag, and Tom seeing this shouted 
to Martin to pull up a bit: We ain’t out Hare-and- 

hounds — what’s the good of grinding on at this rate ? ” 

“ There’s the Spinney,” said Martin, pulling up on 
the brow of a slope at the bottom of which lay Lawford 
brook, and pointing to the top of the opposite slope ; 
“the nest is in one of those high fir-trees at this end. 
And down by the brook there, I know of a sedge-bird’s 
nest; we’ll go and look at it coming back.” 

“ Oh, come on, don’t let us stop,” said Arthur, who 
was getting excited at the sight of the wood ; so they 
broke into a trot again, and were soon across the brook, 
297 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

up the slope, and into the Spinney. Here they advanced 
as noiselessly as possible, lest keepers or other enemies 
should be about, and stopped at the foot of a tall fir, at 
the top of which Martin pointed out with pride the kes- 
trel’s nest, the object of their quest. 

“ Oh where ! which is it ? ” asks Arthur, gaping up 
in the air, and having the most vague idea of what it 
would be like. 

‘‘ There, don’t you see ? ” said East, pointing to a lump 
of mistletoe in the next tree, which was a beech : he saw 
that Martin and Tom were busy with the climbing-irons, 
and couldn’t resist the temptation of hoaxing. Arthur 
stared and wondered more than ever. 

“ Well, how curious ! it doesn’t look a bit like what 
I expected,” said he. 

‘‘Very odd birds, kestrels,” said East, looking wag- 
gishly at his victim, who was still star-gazing. 

“ But I thought it was in a fir-tree ?” objected Arthur. 

“ Ah, don’t you know ? that’s a new sort of fir, which 
old Caldecott brought from the Himalayas.” 

“ Really 1” said Arthur ; “ I’m glad I know that — how 
unlike our firs they are ! They do very well too here, 
don’t they ? the Spinney’s full of them.” 

“ What’s that humbug he’s telling you ?” cried Tom, 
looking up, having caught the word Himalayas, and sus- 
pecting what East was after. 

“ Only about this fir,” said Arthur, putting his hand 
on the stem of the beech. 

“Fir!” shouted Tom, “why, you don’t mean to 
298 


The Bird-Fanciers 

say, young ’un, you don’t know a beech when you see 
one? ” 

Poor little Arthur looked terribly ashamed, and East 
exploded in laughter which made the wood ring. 

“ Fve hardly ever seen any trees,” faltered Arthur. 

‘‘ What a shame to hoax him, Scud ! ” cried Martin. 
“ Never mind, Arthur, you shall know more about trees 
than he does in a week or two.” 

“ And isn’t that the kestrel’s nest, then ? ” asked 
Arthur. 

That ! why, that’s a piece of mistletoe. There’s the 
nest, that lump of sticks up this fir.” 

‘‘ Don’t believe him, Arthur,” struck in the incor- 
rigible East ; “ I just saw an old magpie go out of it.” 

Martin did not deign to reply to this sally, except by 
a grunt, as he buckled the last buckle of his climbing- 
irons ; and Arthur looked reproachfully at East without 
speaking. 

But now came the tug of war. It was a very difficult 
tree to climb until the branches were reached, the first of 
which was some fourteen feet up, for the trunk was too 
large at the bottom to be swarmed ; in fact, neither of 
the boys could reach more than half round it with their 
arms. Martin and Tom, both of whom had irons on, 
tried it without success at first ; the fir bark broke away 
where they stuck the irons in as soon as they leaned any 
weight on their feet, and the grip of their arms wasn’t 
enough to keep them up ; so, after getting up three or 
four feet, down they came slithering to the ground, bark- 
299 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

ing their arms and faces. They were furious, and East 
sat by laughing and shouting at each failure, “Two to 
one on the old magpie ! 

“ We must try a pyramid,’* said Tom at last. “ Now, 
Scud, you lazy rascal, stick yourself against the tree ! ” 

“ I dare say ! and have you standing on my shoulders 
with the irons on : what do you think my skin’s made 
of?” However, up he got, and leaned against the tree, 
putting his head down and clasping it with his arms as far 
as he could. “Now then. Madman,” said Tom, “you 
next.” 

“ No, I’m lighter than you ; you go next.” So Tom 
got on East’s shoulders, and grasped the tree above, and 
then Martin scrambled up on Tom’s shoulders, amid 
the totterings and groanings of the pyramid, and, with a 
spring which sent his supporters howling to the ground^ 
clasped the stem some ten feet up, and remained cling- 
ing. For a moment or two they thought he couldn’t 
get up, but then, holding on with arms and teeth, he 
worked first one iron, then the other, firmly into the 
bark, got another grip with his arms, and in another 
minute had hold of the lowest branch. 

“ All up with the old magpie now,” said East ; and 
after a minute’s rest, up went Martin, hand over hand, 
watched by Arthur with fearful eagerness. 

“ Isn’t it very dangerous ? ” said he. 

“ Not a bit,” answered Tom ; “ you can’t hurt if you 
only get good hand-hold. Try every branch with a good 
pull before you trust it, and then up you go.” 

300 


The Bird-Fanciers 


Martin was now among the small branches close to 
the nest, and away dashed the old bird, and soared up 
above the trees, watching the intruder. 

“ All right — four eggs ! shouted he. 

‘‘Take ’em all!” shouted East; ‘^that’ll be one 
apiece.” 

No, no 1 leave one, and then she won’t care,” said 

Tom. 

We boys had an idea that birds couldn’t count, and 
were quite content as long as you left one egg. I hope 
it is so. 

Martin carefully put one egg into each of his boxes 
and the third into his mouth, the only other place of 
safety, and came down like a lamplighter. All went 
well till he was within ten feet of the ground, when, as 
the trunk enlarged, his hold got less and less firm, and 
at last down he came with a run, tumbling on to his 
back on the turf, spluttering and spitting out the remains 
of the great egg, which had broken by the jar of his fall. 

Ugh, ugh — something to drink — ugh ! it was ad- 
dled,” spluttered he, while the wood rang again with the 
merry laughter of East and Tom. 

Then .they examined the prizes, gathered up their 
things, and went off to the brook, where Martin swal- 
low^ed huge draughts of water to get rid of the taste ; 
and they visited the sedge-bird’s nest, and from thence 
struck across the country in high glee, beating the hedges 
and brakes as they went along; and Arthur at last, to 
his intense delight, was allowed to climb a small hedge- 
301 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

row oak for a magpie's nest with Tom, who kept all 
round him like a mother, and showed him where to hold 
and how to throw his weight ; and though he was in a 
great fright, didn't show it; and was applauded by all 
for his lissomness. 

They crossed a road soon afterward, and there close 
to them lay a heap of charming pebbles. 

“ Look here," shouted East, “ here's luck ! I've been 
longing for some good honest pecking this half hour. 
Let's fill the bags, and have no more of this foozling 
bird's-nesting." 

No one objected, so each boy filled the fustian bag 
he carried full of stones : they crossed into the next field, 
Tom and East taking one side of the hedges, and the 
other two the other side. Noise enough they made cer- 
tainly, but it was too early in the season for the young 
birds, and the old birds were too strong on the wing for 
our young marksmen, and flew out of shot after the first 
discharge. But it was great fun, rushing along the hedge- 
rows, and discharging stone after stone at blackbirds and 
chaffinches, though no result in the shape of slaughtered 
birds was obtained : and Arthur soon entered into it, and 
rushed to head back the birds, and shouted, and threw, 
and tumbled into ditches and over and .through hedges, 
as wild as the Madman himself. 

Presently the party, in full cry after an old blackbird 
(who was evidently used to the thing and enjoyed the 
fun, for he would wait till they came close to him and 
then fly on for forty yards or so, and, with an impudent 
302 


The Bird-Fanciers 


flicker of his tail, dart into the depths of the quickset), 
came beating down a high double hedge, two on each 
side. 

‘‘ There he is again,” ‘‘ Head him,” Let drive,” I 
had him there,” ‘‘ Take care where you're throwing. 
Madman,” the shouts might have been heard a quarter 
of a mile oflf. They were heard some two hundred yards 
off by a farmer and two of his shepherds, who were doc- 
toring sheep in a fold in the next field. 

Now, the farmer in question rented a house and yard 
situate at the end of the field in which the young bird- 
fanciers had arrived, which house and yard he didn't 
occupy or keep any one else in. Nevertheless, like a 
brainless and unreasoning Briton, he persisted in main- 
taining on the premises a large stock of cocks, hens, and 
other poultry. Of course, all sorts of depredators visited 
the place from time to time : foxes and gipsies wrought 
havoc in the night ; while in the day time, I regret to 
have to confess that visits from the Rugby boys, and 
consequent disappearances of ancient and respectable 
fowls, were not unfrequent. Tom and East had during 
the period of their outlawry visited the barn in question 
for felonious purposes, and on one occasion had con- 
quered and slain a duck there, and borne away the carcass 
triumphantly, hidden in their handkerchiefs. However, 
they were sickened of the practice by the trouble and 
anxiety which the wretched duck's body caused them. 
They carried it to Sally Harrowell's in hopes of a good 
supper; but she, after examining it, made a long face, 

303 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

and refused to dress or have anything to do with it. 
Then they took it into their study, and began plucking 
it themselves ; but what to do with the feathers — where 
to hide them ? 

“Good gracious, Tom, what a lot of feathers a duoc 
has ! ” groaned East, holding a bagful in his hand, and 
looking disconsolately at the carcass, not yet half plucked. 

“ And I do think he’s getting high too, already,” said 
Tom, smelling at him cautiously, “ so we must finish him 
up soon.” 

“ Yes, all very well ; but how are we to cook him ? 
I’m sure I ain’t going to try it on in the hall or pas- 
sages ; we can’t afford to be roasting ducks about, our 
character’s too bad.” 

“ I wish we were rid of the brute,” said Tom, throw- 
ing him on the table in disgust. And after a day or two 
more it became clear that got rid of he must be ; so they 
packed him and sealed him up in brown paper, and put 
him in the cupboard of an unoccupied study, where he 
was found in the holidays by the matron, a grewsome 
body. 

They had never been duck-hunting there since, but 
others had, and the bold yeoman was very sore on the 
subject, and bent on making an example of the first boys 
he could catch. So he and his shepherds crouched 
behind the hurdles, and watched the party, who were 
approaching all unconscious. 

Why should that old guinea-fowl be lying out in the 
hedge just at this particular moment of all the year? 

304 


The Bird-Fanciers 


Who can say ? Guinea-fowls always are — so are all 
other things, animals, and persons, requisite for getting 
one into scrapes, always ready when any mischief can 
come of them. At any rate, just under East's nose 
popped out the old guinea-hen, scuttling along and 
shrieking “ Come back, come back," at the top of her 
voice. Either of the other three might perhaps have 
withstood the temptation, but East first lets drive the 
stone he has in his hand at her, and then rushes to turn 
her into the hedge again. He succeeds, and then they 
are all at it for dear life, up and down the hedge in full 
cry, the “ Come back, come back," getting shriller and 
fainter every minute. 

Meantime, the farmer and his men steal over the 
hurdles and creep down the hedge toward the scene of 
action. They are almost within a stone's throw of 
Martin, who is pressing the unlucky chase hard, when 
Tom catches sight of them, and sings out, “ Louts, 'ware 
louts, your side ! Madman, look ahead ! " and then 
catching hold of Arthur, hurries him away across the 
field toward Rugby as hard as they can tear. Had he 
been by himself, he would have stayed to see it out with 
the others, but now his heart sinks and all his pluck goes. 
The idea of being led up to the Doctor with Arthur for 
bagging fowls, quite unmans and takes half the run out 
of him. 

However, no boys are more able to take care of 
themselves than East and Martin ; they dodge the pur- 
suers, slip through a gap, and come pelting after Tom 

305 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

and Arthur, whom they catch up in no time ; the farmer 
and his men are making good running about a field 
behind. Tom wishes to himself that they had made off 
in any other direction, but now they are all in for it 
together, and must see it out. “You won’t leave the 
young ’un, will you ? ” says he, as they haul poor little 
Arthur, already losing wind from the fright, through the 
next hedge. “ Not we,” is the answer from both. The 
next hedge is a stiff one ; the pursuers gain horribly on 
them, and they only just pull Arthur through, with two 
great rents in his trousers, as the foremost shepherd 
comes up on the other side. As they start into the next 
field, they are aware of two figures walking down the 
footpath in the middle of it, and recognize Holmes and 
Diggs taking a constitutional. Those good-natured 
fellows immediately shout “ On.” “ Let’s go to them 
and surrender,” pants Tom. — Agreed. — And in another 
minute the four boys, to the great astonishment of those 
worthies, rush breathless up to Holmes and Diggs, who 
pull up to see what is the matter ; and then the whole is 
explained by the appearance of the farmer and his men, 
who unite their forces and bear down on the knot of boys. 

There is no time to explain, and Tom’s heart beats 
frightfully quick, as he ponders, “ Will they stand by 
us ? ” 

The farmer makes a rush at East and collars him ; 
and that young gentleman, with unusual discretion, in- 
stead of kicking his shins, looks appealingly at Holmes, 
and stands still. 


306 


The Bird-Fanciers 


‘‘ Hullo there, not so fast,** says Holmes, who is 
bound to stand up for them till they are proved in the 
wrong. Now what*s all this about ? ** 

“ Fve got the young varmint at last, have I,** pants 
the farmer; ‘‘why they*ve been a skulking about my 
yard and stealing my fowls, that*s where *tis ; and if I 
doan*t have they flogged for it, every one on *em, my 
name ain*t Thompson.** 

Holmes looks grave, and Diggs*s face falls. They 
are quite ready to fight, no boys in the school more so ; 
but they are praepostors, and understand their office, and 
can*t uphold unrighteous causes. 

“ I haven*t been near his old barn this half,** cries 
East. “ Nor I,** “ Nor I,** chime in Tom and Martin. 
“ Now, Willum, didn*t you see *m there last week ? ** 
“ Ees, I seen *em sure enough,** says Willum, grasp- 
ing a prong he carried, and preparing for action. 

The boys deny stoutly, and Willum is driven to admit 
that, “ if it worn*t they, *twas chaps as like *em as two 
peas*n **; and “leastways he*ll swear he see*d them 
two in the yard last Martinmas,** indicating East and 
Tom. 

Holmes had time to meditate. “ Now, sir,** says he 
to Willum, “ you see you can*t remember what you have 
seen, and I believe the boys.** 

“ I doan*t care,** blusters the farmer ; “ they was arter 
my fowls to-day, that*s enough for I. Willum, you 
catch hold o* t*other chap. They*ve been a sneaking 
about this two hours, I tells *ee,** shouted he, as Holmes 

307 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

stands between Martin and Willum, “ and have druv a 
matter of a dozen young pullets pretty nigh to death.” 

“Oh, there’s a whacker!” cried East; “we haven’t 
been within a hundred yards of his barn; we haven’t 
been up here above ten minutes, and we’ve seen nothing 
but a tough old guinea-hen, who ran like a greyhound.” 

“ Indeed, that’s all true. Holmes, upon my honor,” 
added Tom; “we weren’t after his fowls; the guinea-hen 
ran out of the hedge under our feet, and we’ve seen 
nothing else.” 

“ Drat their talk. Thee catch hold o’ t’other, Wil- 
lum, and come along wi ’un.” 

“ Farmer Thompson,” said Holmes, warning off 
Willum and the prong with his stick, while Diggs faced 
the other shepherd, cracking his fingers like pistol shots, 
“ now listen to reason — the boys haven’t been after your 
fowls, that’s plain.” 

“ Tells ’ee I see’d ’em. Who be you, I should like 
to know ? ” 

“ Never you mind. Farmer,” answered Holmes. 
“ And now I’ll just tell you what it is — you ought to be 
ashamed of yourself for leaving all that poultry about, 
with no one to watch it, so near the School. You deserve 
to have it all stolen. So if you choose to come up to the 
Doctor with them, I shall go with you, and tell him what 
I think of it.” 

The farmer began to take Holmes for a master ; be- 
sides, he wanted to get back to his flock. Corporal 
punishment was out of the question, the odds were too 
308 


The Bird-Fanciers 


great ; so he began to hint at paying for the damage. 
Arthur jumped at this, offering to pay anything, and the 
farmer immediately valued the guinea-hen at half a 
sovereign. 

“ Half a sovereign ! ” cried East, now released from 
the farmer's grip ; well, that is a good one ! the hen 
ain't hurt a bit, and she's seven years old, I know, and 
as tough as whipcord ; she could't lay another egg to save 
her life." 

It was at last settled that they should pay the farmer 
two shillings, and his man one shilling, and so the matter 
ended, to the unspeakable relief of Tom, who hadn't been 
able to say a word, being sick at heart at the idea of what 
the Doctor would think of him : and now the whole 
party of boys marched off down the footpath toward 
Rugby. Holmes, who was one of the best boys in the 
School, began to improve the occasion. ‘‘Now, you 
youngsters," said he, as he marched along in the middle 
of them, “ mind this ; you're very well out of this scrape. 
Don't you go near Thompson's barn again ; do you 
hear ? " 

Profuse promises from all, especially East. 

“ Mind, I don't ask questions," went on Mentor, 
“ but I rather think some of you have been there before 
this after his chickens. Now, knocking over other 
people's chickens, and running off with them, is stealing. 
It's a nasty word, but that's the plain English of it. If 
the chickens were dead and lying in a shop, you wouldn’t 
take them, I know that, any more than you would apples 

309 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

out of Griffith's basket; but there's no real difference 
between chickens running about and apples on a tree, 
and the same articles in a shop. I wish our morals were 
sounder in such matters. There's nothing so mischievous 
as these school distinctions, which jumble up right and 
wrong, and justify things in us for which poor boys would 
be sent to prison." And, good old Holmes delivered 
his soul on the walk home of many wise sayings, and, as 
the song says — 

“Gee’d ’em a sight of good advice”— 

which same sermon sank into them all, more or less, and 
very penitent they were for several hours. But truth 
compels me to admit that East at any rate forgot it all in 
a week, but remembered the insult which had been put 
upon him by Farmer Thompson, and with the Tadpole 
and other harebrained youngsters, committed a raid on 
the barn soon afterward, in which they were caught by 
the shepherds and severely handled, besides having to 
pay eight shillings, all the money they had in the world, 
to escape being taken up to the Doctor. 

Martin became a constant inmate in the joint study 
from this time, and Arthur took to him so kindly, that 
Tom couldn't resist slight fits of jealousy, which, how- 
ever, he managed to keep to himself. The kestrel's eggs 
had not been broken, strange to say, and formed the 
nucleus of Arthur’s collection, at which Martin worked 
heart and soul ; and introduced Arthur to Howlett the 
bird-fancier, and instructed him in the rudiments of the 
310 


The Bird-Fanciers 


art of stuffing. In token of his gratitude, Arthur allowed 
Martin to tattoo a small anchor on one of his wrists, 
which decoration, however, he carefully concealed from 
Tom. Before the end of the half year he had trained 
into a bold climber and good runner, and, as Martin had 
foretold, knew twice as much about trees, birds, flowers, 
and many other things, as our good-hearted and facetious 
young friend Harry East. 


CHAPTER V 


THE FIGHT 

“ Surgebat Macnevisius 
Et mox jactabat ultro, 

Pugnabo tua gratia 
Feroci hoc Mactwoltro.” 

— Etonian 

T here is a certain sort of fellow — we who are 
used to studying boys all know him well enough 
— of whom you can predicate with almost posi- 
tive certainty, after he has been a month at school, that 
he is sure to have a fight, and with almost equal certainty 
that he will have but one. Tom Brown was one of 
these ; and as it is our well-weighed intention to give a 
full, true, and correct account of Tom’s only single 
combat with a school-fellow in the manner of our old 
friend, Bellas Life^ let those young persons whose stom- 
achs are not strong, or who think a good set-to with the 
weapons which God has given us all, an uncivilized, 
unchristian, or ungentlemanly affair, just skip this chapter 
at once, for it won’t be to their taste. 

It was not at all usual in those days for two School- 
house boys to have a fight. Of course there were excep- 
tions, when some cross-grained, hard-headed fellow came 
up who would never be happy unless he was quarrelling 
with his nearest neighbors, or when there was some class- 
dispute, between the fifth-form and the fags for instance, 

312 


The Fight 

which required blood-letting ; and a champion was picked 
out on each side tacitly, who settled the matter by a good 
hearty mill. But for the most part the constant use of 
those surest keepers of the peace, the boxing-gloves, kept 
the School-house boys from fighting one another. Two 
or three nights in every week the gloves were brought 
out, either in the hall or fifth-form room ; and every boy 
who was ever likely to fight at all knew all his neighbors’ 
prowess perfectly well, and could tell to a nicety what 
chance he would have in a stand-up fight with any other 
boy in the house. But of course no such experience 
could be gotten as regarded boys in other houses ; and 
as most of the other houses were more or less jealous of 
the School-house, collisions were frequent. 

After all, what would life be without fighting, I should 
like to know? From the cradle to the grave, fighting, 
rightly understood, is the business, the real, highest, 
honestest business of every son of man. Every one who 
is worth his salt has his enemies, who must be beaten, be 
they evil thoughts and habits in himself, or spiritual 
wickedness in high places, or Russians, or Border- 
ruffians, or Bill, Tom, or Harry, who will not let him 
live his life in quiet till he has thrashed them. 

It is no good for Quakers, or any other body of men, 
to uplift their voices against fighting. Human nature is 
too strong for them, and they don’t follow their own pre- 
cepts. Every soul of them is doing his own piece of fight- 
ing, somehow and somewhere. The world might be a 
better world without fighting, for anything I know, but it 

313 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

wouldn’t be our world ; and, therefore, 1 am dead against 
crying peace when there is no peace, and isn’t meant to 
be. I am as sorry as any man to see folk fighting the 
wrong people and the wrong things, but I’d a deal sooner 
see them doing that, than that they should have no fight 
in them. So having recorded, and being about to record, 
my hero’s fights of all sorts, with all sorts of enemies, I 
shall now proceed to give an account of his passage-at- 
arms with the only one of his school-fellows whom he 
ever had to encounter in this nianner. 

It was drawing toward the close of Arthur’s first half- 
year, and the May evenings were lengthening out. Lock- 
ing-up was not till eight o’clock, and everybody was be- 
ginning to talk about what he would do in the holidays. 
The shell, in which form all our dramatis personae now 
are, were reading among other things the last book of 
Homer’s “ Iliad,” and had worked through it as far as the 
speeches of the women over Hector’s body. It is a whole 
school-day, and four or five of the School-house boys 
(among whom are Arthur, Tom, and East) are preparing 
third lesson together. They have finished the regula- 
tion forty lines, and are for the most part getting very 
tired, notwithstanding the exquisite pathos of Helen’s 
lamentation. And now several long four-syllabled words 
come together, and the boy with the dictionary strikes 
work. 

“ I am not going to look out any more words,” says 
he; “we’ve done the quantity. Ten to one we shan’t 
get so far. Let’s go out into the close.” 


The Fight 

“ Come along, boys,” cries East, always ready to leave 
the grind, as he called it ; ‘‘ our old coach is laid up, you 
know, and we shall have one of the new masters, who’s 
sure to go slow and let us down easy.” 

So an adjournment to the close was carried nem, con.y 
little Arthur not daring to uplift his voice ; but, being 
deeply interested in what they were reading, stayed quietly 
behind, and learned on for his own pleasure. 

As East had said, the regular master of the form was 
unwell, and they were to be heard by one of the new mas- 
ters, quite a young man, who had only just left the uni- 
versity. Certainly it would be hard lines, if, by dawdling 
as much as possible in coming in and taking their places, 
entering into long-winded explanations of what was the 
usual course of the regular master of the form, and others 
of the stock contrivances of boys for wasting time in 
school, they could not spin out the lesson so that he 
should not work them through more than forty lines ; as 
to which quantity there was a perpetual fight going on 
between the master and his form, the latter insisting, and 
enforcing by passive resistance, that it was the prescribed 
quantity of Homer for a shell lesson, the former that there 
was no fixed quantity, but that they must always be ready 
to go on to fifty or sixty lines if there were time within 
the hour. However, notwithstanding all their efforts, the 
new master got on horribly quick ; he seemed to have 
the bad taste to be really interested in the lesson, and to 
be trying to work them up into something like apprecia- 
tion of it, giving them good spirited English words, in- 
315 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

stead of the wretched bald stuff into which they rendered 
poor old Homer; and construing over each piece himself 
to them, after each boy, to show them how it should be 
done. 

Now the clock strikes the three-quarters; there is 
only a quarter of an hour more ; but the forty lines are 
all but done. So the boys, one after another, who are 
called up, stick more and more, and make balder and ever 
more bald work of it. The poor young master is pretty 
near beat by this time, and feels ready to knock his head 
against the wall, or his fingers against somebody else’s 
head. So he gives up altogether the lower and middle 
parts of the form, and looks round in despair at the boys 
on the top bench, to see if there is one out of whom he 
can strike a spark or two, and who will be too chivalrous 
to murder the most beautiful utterances of the most beau- 
tiful woman of the old world. His eye rests on Arthur, 
and he calls him up to finish construing Helen’s speech. 
Whereupon all the other boys draw long breaths, and 
begin to stare about and take it easy. They are all safe ; 
Arthur is the head of the form, and sure to be able to con- 
strue, and that will tide on safely till the hour strikes. 

Arthur proceeds to read out the passage in Greek be- 
fore construing it, as the custom is. Tom, who isn’t pay- 
ing much attention, is suddenly caught by the falter in his 
voice as he reads the two lines — 

dXXd (TO Tov Y iiTie<T(n Tzapatipdfxsvog xaripux£<^, 

2 *^ t ’ dYavo^po(Toi^ xdl <toT^ dyavoT^ inietTfriv. 

He looks up at Arthur. “ Why, bless us,” thinks he, 
316 


The Fight 

‘‘what can be the matter with the young ’un ? He’s 
never going to get floored. He’s sure to have learned 
to the end.” Next moment he is reassured by the 
spirited tone in which Arthur begins construing, and be- 
takes himself to drawing dogs’ heads in his note-book, 
while the master, evidently enjoying the change, turns 
his back on the middle bench and stands before Arthur, 
beating a sort of time with his hand and foot, and saying, 
“Yes, yes,” “very well,” as Arthur goes on. 

But as he nears the fatal two lines, Tom catches that 
falter and again looks up. He sees that there is some- 
thing the matter — Arthur can hardly get on at all. What 
can it be.^ 

Suddenly at this point Arthur breaks down altogether, 
and fairly breaks out crying, and dashes the cuflF of his 
jacket across his eyes, blushing up to the roots of his 
hair, and feeling as if he should like to go down suddenly 
through the floor. The whole form are taken aback ; 
most of them stare stupidly at him, while those who are 
gifted with presence of mind find their places and look 
steadily at their books, in hopes of not catching the 
master’s eye and getting called up in Arthur’s place. 

The master looks puzzled for a moment, and then 
seeing, as the fact is, that the boy is really affected to 
tears by the most touching thing in Homer, perhaps in 
all profane poetry put together, steps up to him and lays 
his hand kindly on his shoulder, saying, “ Never mind, 
my little man, you’ve construed very well. Stop a minute, 
there’s no hurry.” 


317 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

Now, as luck would have it, there sat next above 
Tom that day, in the middle bench of the form, a big 
boy, by name Williams, generally supposed to be the cock 
of the shell, therefore of all the school below the fifths. 
The small boys, who are great speculators on the prowess 
of their elders, used to hold forth to one another about 
Williams's great strength, and to discuss whether East or 
Brown would take a licking from him. He was called 
Slogger Williams, from the force with which it was sup- 
posed he could hit. In the main, he was a rough good- 
natured fellow enough, but very much alive to his own 
dignity. He reckoned himself the king of the form, 
and kept up his position with a strong hand, especially 
in the matter of forcing boys not to construe more than 
the legitimate forty lines. He had already grunted and 
grumbled to himself, when Arthur went on reading be- 
yond the forty lines. But now that he had broken down 
just in the middle of all the long words, the Slogger’s 
wrath was fairly roused. 

‘‘ Sneaking little brute,” muttered he, regardless of 
prudence, “clapping on the waterworks just in the 
hardest place ; see if I don’t punch his head after fourth 
lesson.” 

“Whose?” said Tom, to whom the remark seemed 
to be addressed. 

“ Why, that little sneak Arthur’s,” replied Williams. 

“ No, you shan’t,” said Tom. 

“ Hullo 1 ” exclaimed Williams, looking at Tom with 
great surprise for a moment, and then giving him a 
31B 


The Fight 

sudden dig in the ribs with his elbow, which sent Tom’s 
books flying on the floor, and called the attention of the 
master, who turned suddenly round, and seeing the state 
of things, said — 

‘‘ Williams, go down three places, and then go on.” 

The Slogger found his legs very slowly, and proceeded 
to go below Tom and two other boys with great disgust, 
and then turning round and facing the master, said, “ I 
haven’t learned any more, sir; our lesson is only forty 
lines.” 

“ Is that so ? ” said the master, appealing generally to 
the top bench. No answer. 

‘‘ Who is the head boy of the form ? ” said he, waxing 
wroth. 

“ Arthur, sir,” answered three or four boys, indicating 
our friend. 

Oh, your name’s Arthur. Well now, what is the 
length of your regular lesson ? ” 

Arthur hesitated a moment, and then said, “We call 
it only forty lines, sir.” 

“ How do you mean, you call it ? ” 

“ Well, sir, Mr. Graham says we ain’t to stop there, 
when there’s time to construe more.” 

“ I understand,” said the master. “ Williams, go 
down three more places, and write me out the lesson in 
Greek and English. And now, Arthur, finish constru- 
ing.” 

“ Oh ! would I be in Arthur’s shoes after fourth 
lesson ? ” said the little boys to one another ; but Arthur 

319 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

finished Helen’s speech without any further catas- 
trophe, and the clock struck four, which ended third 
lesson. 

Another hour was occupied in preparing and saying 
fourth lesson, during which Williams was bottling up his 
wrath ; and when five struck, and the lessons for the day 
were over, he prepared to take summary vengeance on 
the innocent cause of his misfortune. 

Tom was detained in school a few minutes after the 
rest, and on coming out into the quadrangle, the first 
thing he saw was a small ring of boys, applauding Wil- 
liams, who was holding Arthur by the collar. 

“ There, you young sneak,” said he, giving Arthur a 
cuff on the head with his other hand, what made you 
say that ” — 

Hullo ! ” said Tom, shouldering into the crowd, 
“you drop that, Williams; you shan’t touch him.” 

“ Who’ll stop me ? ” said the Slogger, raising his hand 
again. 

“I,” said Tom; and suiting the action to the word, 
struck the hand which held Arthur’s arm so sharply, that 
the Slogger dropped it with a start, and turned the full 
current of his wrath on Tom. 

“ Will you fight ? ” 

“ Yes, of course.” 

“ Huzza, there’s going to be a fight between Slogger 
Williams and Tom Brown !” 

The news ran like wild-fire about, and many boys 
who were on their way to tea at their several houses 
320 


The Fight 

turned back, and sought the back of the chapel, where 
the fights come off. 

‘‘Just run and tell East to come and back me,” said 
Tom to a small School-house boy, who was off like a 
rocket to Harrowell’s, just stopping for a moment to 
poke his head into the School-house hall, where the lower 
boys were already at tea, and sing out, “ Fight ! Tom 
Brown and Slogger Williams.” 

Up start half the boys at once, leaving bread, eggs, 
butter, sprats, and all the rest to take care of themselves. 
The greater part of the remainder follow in a minute, 
after swallowing their tea, carrying their food in their 
hands to consume as they go. Three or four only re- 
main, who steal the butter of the more impetuous, and 
make to themselves an unctuous feast. 

In another minute East and Martin tear through 
the quadrangle carrying a sponge, and arrive at the 
scene of action just as the combatants are beginning 
to strip. 

Tom felt he had got his work cut out for him, as he 
stripped off his jacket, waistcoat, and braces. East tied 
his handkerchief round his waist, and rolled up his shirt- 
sleeves for him. “ Now, old boy, don’t you open your 
mouth to say a word, or try to help yourself a bit, we’ll 
do all that ; you keep all your breath and strength for 
the Slogger.” Martin meanwhile folded the clothes and 
put them under the chapel rails; and now Tom, with 
East to handle him and Martin to give him a knee, steps 
out on the turf, and is ready for all that may come : and 
321 


Vol. 16— K 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

here is the Slogger too, all stripped, and thirsting for 
the fray. 

It doesn’t look like a fair match at first glance : Wil- 
liams is nearly two inches taller, and probably a long 
year older than his opponent, and he is very strongly 
made about the arms and shoulders ; “ peels well,” as the 
little knot of big fifth-form boys, the amateurs, say ; who 
stand outside the ring of little boys, looking complacently 
on, but taking no active part in the proceedings. But 
down below he is not so good by any means ; no spring 
from the loins, and feeblish, not to say shipwrecky, about 
the knees. Tom, on the contrary, though not half so 
strong in the arms, is good all over, straight, hard and 
springy from neck to ankle, better perhaps in his legs 
than anywhere. Besides, you can see by the clear white 
of his eye and fresh bright look of his skin, that he is in 
tip-top training, able to do all he knows ; while the 
Slogger looks rather sodden, as if he didn’t take much 
exercise and ate too much tuck. The time-keeper is 
chosen, a large ring made, and the two stand up opposite 
one another for a moment, giving us time just to make 
our little observations. 

“ If Tom’ll only condescend to fight with his head 
and heels,” as East mutters to Martin, “we shall do.” 

But seemingly he won’t, for there he goes in, making 
play with both hands. Hard all, is the word ; the two 
stand to one another like men ; rally follows rally in quick 
succession, each fighting as if he thought to finish the 
whole thing out of hand. “ Can’t last at this rate,” say 
322 


The Fight 

the knowing ones, while the partisans of each make the 
air ring with their shouts and counter-shouts, of encour- 
agement, approval and defiance. 

“ Take it easy, take it easy — keep away, let him come 
after you,” implores East, as he wipes Tom’s face after 
the first round with wet sponge, while he sits back on 
Martin’s knee, supported by the Madman’s long arms, 
which tremble a little from excitement. 

“ Time’s up,” calls the time-keeper. 

‘‘ There he goes again, hang it all !” growls East as 
his man is at it again as hard as ever. A very severe 
round follows, in which Tom gets out and out the worst 
of it, and is at last hit clean off his legs, and deposited on 
the grass by a right-hander from the Slogger. 

Loud shouts rise from the boys of Slogger’s house, 
and the School-house are silent and vicious, ready to pick 
quarrels anywhere. 

“Two to one in half-crowns on the big ’un,” says 
Rattle, one of the amateurs, a tall fellow, in thunder-and- 
lightning waistcoat, and puffy, good-natured face. 

“ Done ! ” says Groove, another amateur of quieter 
look, taking out his note-book to enter it — for our friend 
Rattle sometimes forgets these little things. 

Meantime East is freshening up Tom with the 
sponges for next round, and has set two other boys to 
rub his hands. 

“Tom, old boy,” whispers he, “this may be fun for 
you, but it’s death to me. He’ll hit all the fight out of 
you in another five minutes, and then I shall go and 

323 


Tom Brown’s School Days 


drown myself in the island ditch. Feint him — use your 
legs ! — draw him about ! he’ll lose his wind then in no 
time, and you can go into him. Hit at his body too, 
we’ll take care of his frontispiece by and by.” 

Tom felt the wisdom of the counsel, and saw already 
that he couldn’t go in and finish the Slogger off at mere 
hammer and tongs, so changed his tactics completely in 
the third round. He now fights cautious, getting away 
from and parrying the Slogger’s lunging hits, instead of 
trying to counter, and leading his enemy a dance all round 
the ring after him. ‘‘ He^’s funking ; go in, Williams,” 
Catch him up,” “ Finish him off,” scream the small 
boys of the Slogger party. 

“Just what we want,” thinks East, chuckling to him- 
self, as he sees Williams, excited by these shouts, and 
thinking the game in his own hands, blowing himself in 
his exertions to get to close quarters again, while Tom is 
keeping away with perfect ease. 

They quarter over the ground again and again, Tom 
always on the defensive. 

The Slogger pulls up at last for a moment, fairly 
blown. 

“Now then, Tom,” sings out East, dancing with de- 
light. Tom goes in in a twinkling, and hits two heavy 
body blows, and gets away again before the Slogger can 
catch his wind ; which when he does he rushes with blind 
fury at Tom, and being skilfully parried and avoided, 
over-reaches himself and falls on his face, amidst terrific 
cheers from the School-house boys. 

324 


The Fight 

“ Double your two to one ? ” says Groove to Rattle, 
note-book in hand. 

“ Stop a bit,” says that hero, looking uncomfortably 
at Williams, who is puffing away on his second's knee, 
winded enough, but little the worse in any other away. 

After another round the Slogger too seems to see that 
he can't go in and win right off, and has met his match 
or thereabouts. So he too begins to use his head, and 
tries to make Tom lose patience and come in before his 
time. And so the fight sways on, now one, and now* the 
other, getting a trifling pull. 

Tom's face begins to look very one-sided — there are 
little queer bumps on his forehead, and his mouth is 
bleeding ; but East keeps the wet sponge going so scien- 
tifically, that he comes up looking as fresh and bright as 
ever. Williams is only slightly marked in the face, but 
by the nervous movement of his elbows you can see that 
Tom's body blows are telling. In fact, half the vice of 
the Slogger's hitting is neutralized, for he daren't lunge 
out freely for fear of exposing his sides. It is too inter- 
esting by this time for much shouting, and the whole 
ring is very quiet. 

“All right. Tommy,'' whispers East; “hold on's the 
horse that's to win. We've got the last. Keep your 
head, old boy.'' 

But where is Arthur all this time ? Words cannot 
paint the poor little fellow's distress. He couldn't muster 
courage to come up to the ring, but wandered up and down 
from the great fives'-court to the corner of the chapel 

325 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

rails. Now trying to make up his mind to throw him- 
self between them, and try to stop them ; then thinking 
of running in and telling his friend Mary, who he knew 
would instantly report to the Doctor. The stories he 
had heard of men being killed in prize-fights rose up 
horribly before him. 

Once only, when the shouts of “ Well done. Brown ! 

‘‘ Huzza for th'e School-house ! rose higher than ever, 
he ventured up to the ring, thinking the victory was won. 
Catching sight of Tom's face in the state I have described, 
all fear of consequences vanishing out of his mind, he 
rushed straight off to the matron’s room, beseeching her 
to get the fight stopped, or he should die. 

But it’s time for us to get back to the close. What 
is this fierce tumult and confusion? The ring is broken, 
and high and angry words are being bandied about : 
‘‘It’s all fair” — “It isn’t” — “No hugging”; the fight 
is stopped. The combatants, however, sit there quietly, 
tended by their seconds, while their adherents wrangle in 
the middle. East can’t help shouting challenges to two 
or three of the other side, though he never leaves Tom 
for a moment, and plies the sponges as fast as ever. 

The fact is, that at the end of the last round, Tom 
seeing a good opening, had closed with his opponent, and 
after a moment’s struggle had thrown him heavily, by the 
help of the fall he had learned from his village rival in the 
vale of White Horse. Williams hadn’t the ghost of a 
chance with Tom at wrestling; and the conviction broke 
at once on the Slogger faction, that if this were allowed 
326 


The Fight 

their man must be licked. There was a strong feeling 
in the school against catching hold and throwing, though 
it was generally ruled all fair within certain limits ; so the 
ring was broken and the fight stopped. 

The School-house are over-ruled — the fight is on 
again, but there is to be no throwing ; and East in high 
wrath threatens to take his man away after next round 
(which he don’t mean to do, by the way), when suddenly 
young Brooke comes through the small gate at the end 
of the chapel. The School-house faction rush to him. 

Oh, hurra ! now we shall get fair play.” 

“ Please, Brooke, come up, they won’t let Tom 
Brown throw him.” 

‘‘ Throw whom ? ” says Brooke, coming up to the 
ring. “Oh! Williams, I see. Nonsense! of course he 
may throw him if he catches him fairly above the waist.” 

Now, young Brooke, you’re in the sixth, you know, 
and you ought to stop all fights. He looks hard at both 
boys. “ Anything wrong ?” says he to East, nodding at 
Tom. 

“ Not a bit.” 

“ Not beat at all ? ” 

“ Bless you, no ! heaps of fight in him. Ain’t there, 
Tom ? ” 

Tom looks at Brooke and grins. 

“H ow’s he?” nodding at Williams. 

“So, so; rather done, I think, since his last fall. He 
won’t stand above two more.” 

“ Time’s up !” the boys rise again and face 
327 


one 


Tom Brown’s School Days 


another. Brooke can’t find it in his heart to stop them 
just yet, so the round goes on, the Slogger waiting for 
Tom, and reserving all his strength to hit him out should 
he come in for the wrestling dodge again, for he feels that 
that must be stopped, or his sponge will soon go up in 
the air. 

And now another newcomer appears on the field, to 
wit, the under-porter, with his long brush and great 
wooden receptacle for dust under his arm. He has been 
sweeping out the schools. 

“You’d better stop, gentlemen,” he says; “the 
Doctor knows that Brown’s fighting — he’ll be out in a 
minute.” 

“You go to Bath, Bill,” is all that that excellent 
servitor gets by his advice. And being a man of his 
hands, and a stanch upholder of the School-house, can’t 
help stopping to look on for a bit, and see Tom Brown, 
their pet craftsman, fight a round. 

It is grim earnest now, and no mistake. Both boys 
feel this, and summon every power of head, hand, and 
eye to their aid. A piece of luck on either side, a foot 
slipping, a blow getting well home, or another fall, may 
decide it. Tom works slowly round for an opening; he 
has all the legs, and can choose his own time : the Slogger 
waits for the attack, and hopes to finish it by some heavy 
right-handed blow. As they quarter slowly over the 
ground, the evening sun comes out from behind a cloud 
and falls full on Williams’s face. Tom darts in; the 
heavy right-hand is delivered, but only grazes his head. 

328 


The Fight 

A short rally at close quarters, and they close ; in another 
moment the Slogger is thrown again heavily for the third 
time. 

ril give you three to two on the little one in half- 
crowns,’' said Groove to Rattle. 

“ No, thank’ee,” answers the other, diving his hands 
further into his coat-tails. 

Just at this stage of the proceedings, the door of the 
turret which leads to the Doctor’s library suddenly opens, 
and he steps into the close, and makes straight for the 
ring, in which Brown and the Slogger are both seated on 
their seconds’ knees for the last time. 

‘‘The Doctor! the Doctor!” shouts some small boy 
who catches sight of him, and the ring melts away in a 
few seconds, the small boys tearing off, Tom collaring 
his jacket and waistcoat, and slipping through the little 
gate by the chapel, and round the corner to Harrowell’s 
with his backers, as lively as need be ; Williams and his 
backers making off not quite so fast across the close ; 
Groove, Rattle, and the other bigger fellows trying to 
combine dignity and prudence in a comical manner, and 
walking off fast enough, they hope, not to be recognized, 
and not fast enough to look like running away. 

Young Brooke alone remains on the ground by the 
time the Doctor gets there, and touches his hat, not with- 
out a slight inward qualm. 

“ Hah ! Brooke. I am surprised to see you here. 
Don’t you know that I expect the sixth to stop fighting ? ” 

Brooke felt much more uncomfortable than he had 

329 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

expected, but he was rather a favorite with the Doctor 
for his openness and plainness of speech ; so blurted out, 
as he walked by the Doctor’s side, who had already 
turned back — 

“Yes, sir, generally. But I thought you wished us 
to exercise a discretion in the matter too — not to inter- 
fere too soon.” 

“ But they have been fighting this half-hour and 
more,” said the Doctor. 

“Yes, sir; but neither was hurt. And they’re the 
sort of boys who’ll be all the better friends now, which 
they wouldn’t have been if they had been stopped any 
earlier — before it was so equal.” 

“ Who was fighting with Brown ? ” said the Doctor. 

“ Williams, sir, of Thompson’s. He is bigger than 
Brown, and had the best of it at first, but not when you 
came up, sir. There’s a good deal of jealousy between 
our house and Thompson’s, and there would have been 
more fights if this hadn’t been let go on, or if either of 
them had had much the worst of it.” 

“Well but, Brooke,” said the Doctor, “doesn’t this 
look a little as if you exercised your discretion by only 
stopping a fight when the School-house boy is getting 
the worst of it ? ” 

Brooke, it must be confessed, felt rather gravelled. 

“ Remember,” added the Doctor, as he stopped at 
the turret-door, “ this fight is not to go on — you’ll see 
to that. And I expect you to stop all fights in future at 
once.” 


330 


The Fight 

‘‘Very well, sir,” said young Brooke, touching his 
hat, and not sorry to see the turret-door close behind the 
Doctor’s back. 

Meantime Tom and the stanchest of his adherents 
had reached Harrowell’s, and Sally was bustling about 
to get them a late tea, while Stumps had been sent off to 
Tew the butcher, to get a piece of raw beef for Tom’s 
eye, which was to be healed off-hand, so that he might 
show well in the morning. He was not a bit the worse 
except a slight difficulty in his vision, a singing in his 
ears, and a sprained thumb, which he kept in a cold 
water bandage, while he drank lots of tea, and listened 
to the Babel of voices talking and speculating of nothing 
but the fight, and how Williams would have given in 
after another fall (which he didn’t in the least believe), 
and how on earth the Doctor could have got to know of 
it — such bad luck ! He couldn’t help thinking to him- 
self that he was glad he hadn’t won ; he liked it better 
as it was, and felt very kindly to the Slogger. And 
then poor little Arthur crept in and sat down quietly 
near him, and kept looking at him and the raw beef 
with such plaintive looks, that Tom at last burst out 
laughing. 

“ Don’t make such eyes, young ’un,” said he, 
“ there’s nothing the matter.” 

“Oh but, Tom, are you much hurt? I can’t bear 
thinking it was all for me.” 

“Not a bit of it, don’t flatter yourself. We were 
sure to have it out sooner or later.” 

331 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

“ Well, but you won’t go on, will you ? You’ll 
promise me you won’t go on ? ” 

“Can’t tell about that — all depends on the houses. 
We’re in the hands of our countrymen, you know. 
Must fight for the School-house flag, if so be.” 

However, the lovers of the science were doomed to 
disappointment this time. Directly after locking-up, one 
of the night fags knocked at Tom’s door. 

“ Brown, young Brooke wants you in the sixth-form 
room.” 

Up went Tom to the summons, and found the mag- 
nates sitting at their supper. 

“ Well, Brown,” said young Brooke, nodding to him, 
“ how do you feel ? ” 

“ Oh, very well, thank you, only I’ve sprained my 
thumb, I think.” 

“Sure to do that in a fight. Well, you hadn’t the 
worst of it, I could see. Where did you learn that 
throw ? ” 

“ Down in the country, when I was a boy.” 

“ Hullo ! why what are you now ? Well, never 
mind, you’re a plucky fellow. Sit down and have some 
supper.” 

Tom obeyed, by no means loth. And the fifth-form 
boy next him filled him a tumbler of bottled-beer, and 
he ate and drank, listening to the pleasant talk, and 
wondering how soon he should be in the fifth, and one 
of that much-envied society. 

As he got up to leave, Brooke said, “ You must 
332 


see 


The Fight 

shake hands to-morrow morning ; I shall come and 
that done after first lesson.” 

And so he did. And Tom and the Slogger shook 
hands with great satisfaction and mutual respect. And 
for the next year or two, whenever fights were being 
talked of, the small boys who had been present shook 
their heads wisely, saying, Ah ! but you should just 
have seen the fight between Slogger Williams and Tom 
Brown ! ” 

And now, boys all, three words before we quit the 
subject. I have put in this chapter on fighting of malice 
prepense, partly because I want to give you a true picture 
of what every-day school life was in my time, and not 
a kid-glove and go-to-meeting-coat picture; and partly 
because of the cant and twaddle that’s talked of boxing 
and fighting with fists now-a-days. Even Thackeray 
has given in to it ; and only a few weeks ago there was 
some rampant stuff in the "Times on the subject, in an 
article on field sports. 

Boys will quarrel, and when they quarrel will some- 
times fight. Fighting with fists is the natural and English 
way for English boys to settle their quarrels. What 
substitute for it is there, or ever was there, among any 
nation under the sun What would you like to see take 
its place ? 

Learn to box, then, as you learn to play cricket and 
football. Not one of you will be the worse, but very 
much the better for learning to box well. Should you 
never have to use it in earnest, there’s no exercise in the 
333 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

world so good for the temper, and for the muscles of the 
back and legs. 

As to fighting, keep out of it if you can, by all 
means. When the time comes, if it ever should, that 
you have to say “ Yes ” or ‘‘No ” to a challenge to fight, 
« say “ No '' if you can, — only take care you make it clear 
to yourselves why you say “No.” It’s a proof of the 
highest courage, if done from true Christian motives. 
It’s quite right and justifiable, if done from a simple 
aversion to physical pain and danger. But don’t say 
“No” because you fear a licking, and say or think it’s 
because you fear God, for that’s neither Christian nor 
honest. And if you do fight, fight it out; and don’t 
give in while you can stand and see. 


334 


CHAPTER VI 


FEVER IN THE SCHOOL 

“ This our hope for all that’s mortal, 

And we too shall burst the bond; 

Death keeps watch beside the portal, 

But ’tis life that dwells beyopd.” 

—John Sterling 

T WO years have passed since the events recorded 
in the last chapter, and the end of the summer 
half-year is again drawing on. Martin has left 
and gone on a cruise in the South Pacific, in one of his 
uncle’s ships,; the old magpie, as disreputable as ever, 
his last bequest to Arthur, lives in the joint study. 
Arthur is nearly sixteen, and is at the head of the twenty, 
having gone up the school at the rate of a form a half- 
year. East and Tom have been much more deliberate in 
their progress, and are only a little way up the fifth form. 
Great strapping boys they are, but still thorough boys, 
filling about the same place in the House that young 
Brooke filled when they were new boys, and much the 
same sort of fellows. Constant intercourse with Arthur 
has done much for both of them, especially for Tom ; but 
much remains yet to be done, if they are to get all the 
good out of Rugby which is to be got there in these times, 
Arthur is still frail and delicate, with more spirit than 
body ; but, thanks to his intimacy with them and Martin, 

335 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

has learned to swim, and run, and play cricket, and has 
never hurt himself by too much reading. 

One evening, as they were all sitting down to supper 
in the fifth-form room, some one started a report that a 
fever had broken out at one of the boarding-houses ; 
“ they say,” he added, “ that Thompson is very ill, and 
that Dr. Robertson has been sent for from Northamp- 
ton.” 

‘‘ Then we shall all be sent home,” cried another. 
“ Hurrah ! five weeks’ extra holidays, and no fifth-form 
examination ! ” 

hope *not,” said Tom; ‘‘there’ll be no Maryle- 
bone match then at the end of the half.” 

Some thought one thing, some another, many didn’t 
believe the rep6rt; but the next day, Tuesday, Dr. Rob- 
ertson arrived, and stayed all day, and had long confer- 
ences with the Doctor. 

On Wednesday morning, after prayers, the Doctor 
addressed the whole School. There were several cases of 
fever in different houses, he said ; but Dr. Robertson, after 
the most careful examination, had assured him that it was 
not infectious, and that if proper care were taken, there 
could be no reason for stopping the school work at pres- 
ent. The examinations were just coming on, and it would 
be very unadvisable to break up now. However, any 
boys who chose to do so were at liberty to write home, 
and, if their parents wished it, to leave at once. He 
should send the whole School home if the fever spread. 

The next day Arthur sickened, but there was no other 
33b 


Fever in the School 


case. Before the end of the week thirty or forty boys 
had gone, but the rest stayed on. There was a general 
wish to please the Doctor, and a feeling that it was cow- 
ardly to run away. 

On the Saturday Thompson died, in the bright after- 
noon, while the cricket-match was going on as usual on 
the big-side ground, the Doctor coming from his death- 
bed, passed along the gravel-walk at the side of the close, 
but no one knew what had happened till the next day. 
At morning lecture it began to be rumored, and by after- 
noon chapel was known generally ; and a feeling of serious- 
ness and awe at the actual presence of dealth among them 
came over the whole School. In all the long years of his 
ministry the Doctor perhaps never spoke words which sank 
deeper than some of those in that day’s sermon. ‘‘ When 
I came yesterday from visiting all but the very death-bed 
of him who has been taken from us, and looked around 
upon all the familiar objects and scenes within our own 
ground, where your common amusements were going on, 
with your common cheerfulness and activity, I felt there 
was nothing painful in witnessing that ; it did not seem in 
any way shocking or out of tune with those feelings which 
the sight of a dying Christian must be supposed to awaken. 
The unsuitableness in point of natural feeling between 
scenes of mourning and scenes of liveliness did not at all 
present itself. But I did feel that if at that moment any 
of those faults had been brought before me which some- 
times occur among us ; had I heard that any of you had 
been guilty of falsehood, or of drunkenness, or of any 
337 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

other such sin ; had I heard from any quarter the lan- 
guage of profanenesSj or of unkindness, or of indecency ; 
had I heard or seen any signs of that wretched folly which 
courts the laugh of fools by affecting not to dread evil and 
not to care for good, then the unsuitableness of any of 
these things with the scene I had }ust quitted would in- 
deed have been most intensely painful. And why ? Not 
because such things would really have been worse than at 
any other time, but because at such a moment the eyes 
are opened really to know good and evil, because we then 
feel what it is so to live as that death becomes an infinite 
blessing, and what it is so to live also, that it were good 
for us if we had never been born.” 

Tom had gone into chapel in sickening anxiety about 
Arthur, but he came out cheered and strengthened by 
those grand words, and walked up alone to their study. 
And when he sat down and looked round, and saw Ar- 
thur’s straw hat and cricket jacket hanging on their pegs, 
and marked all his little neat arrangements, not one of 
which had been disturbed, the tears indeed rolled down his 
cheeks ; but they were calm and blessed tears, and he re- 
peated to himself, ‘‘ Yes, Geordie’s eyes are opened — he 
knows what it is so to live as that death becomes an in- 
finite blessing. But do I ? Oh, God, can I bear to lose 
him?” 

The week passed mournfully away. No more boys 
sickened, but Arthur was reported worse each day, and his 
mother arrived early in the week. Tom made many ap- 
peals to be allowed to see him, and several times tried to 
338 


Fever in the School 


get up to the sick-room ; but the housekeeper was always 
in the way, and at last spoke to the Doctor, who kindly, 
but peremptorily, forbade him. 

Thompson was buried on the Tuesday ; and the burial 
service, so soothing and grand always, but beyond all 
words solemn when read over a boy’s grave to his com- 
panions, brought him much comfort, and many strange new 
thoughts and longings. He went back to his regular life, 
and played cricket and bathed as usual : it seemed to him 
that this was the right thing to do, and the new thoughts 
and longings became more brave and healthy for the effort. 
The crisis came on Saturday, the day week that Thomp- 
son had died ; and during that long afternoon Tom sat in 
his study reading his Bible and going every half-hour to 
the housekeeper’s room, expecting each time to hear that 
the gentle and brave little spirit had gone home. But 
God had work for Arthur to do : the crisis passed — on 
Sunday evening he was declared out of danger ; on Mon- 
day he sent a message to Tom that he was almost well, had 
changed his room, and was to be allowed to see him the 
next day. 

It was evening when the housekeeper summoned him 
to the sick room. Arthur was lying on the sofa by the 
open window, through which the rays of the western sun 
stole gently, lighting up his white face and golden hair. 
Tom remembered a German picture of an angel which 
he knew; often had he thought how transparent and 
golden and spirit-like it was ; and he shuddered to think 
how like it Arthur looked, and felt a shock as if his 
339 


Tom Brown’s School Days 


blood had all stopped short, as he realized how near the 
Other world his friend must have been to look like that. 
Never till that moment had he felt how his little chum 
had twined himself round his heartstrings ; and as he 
stole gently across the room and knelt down, and put 
his arm round Arthur’s head on the pillow, he felt ashamed 
and half angry at his own red and brown face, and the 
bounding sense of health and power which filled every 
fibre of his body, and made every movement of mere 
living a joy to him. He needn’t have troubled himself ; 
it was this very strength and power so different from his 
own which drew Arthur so to him. 

Arthur laid his thin white hand, on which the blue 
veins stood out so plainly, on Tom’s great brown fist, 
and smiled at him ; and then looked out of the window 
again, as if he couldn’t bear to lose a moment of the 
sunset, into the tops of the great feathery elms, round 
which the rooks were circling and clanging, returning in 
flocks from their evening’s foraging parties. The elms 
rustled, the sparrows in the ivy just outside the window 
chirped and fluttered about, quarrelling and making it up 
again ; the rooks young and old talked in chorus ; and 
the merry shouts of the boys, and the sweet click of the 
cricket-bats, came up cheerily from below. 

Dear George,” said Tom, ‘‘ I am so glad to be let 
up to see you at last. I’ve tried hard to come so often, 
but they wouldn’t let me before.” 

‘‘Oh, I know, Tom; Mary has told me every day 
about you, and how she was obliged to make the Doctor 
340 


Fever in the School 


speak to you to keep you away, rm very glad you 
didn’t get up, for you might have caught it, and you 
couldn’t stand being ill with all the matches going on. 
And you’re in the eleven too, I hear — I’m so glad.” 

‘^Yes, ain’t it jolly ? ” said Tom proudly; ‘M’m ninth 
too. I made forty at the last pie-match and caught 
three fellows out. So I was put in above Jones and 
Tucker. Tucker’s so savage, for he was head of the 
twenty-two.” 

“Well, I think you ought to be higher yet,” said 
Arthur, who was as jealous for the renown of Tom in 
games, as Tom was for his as a scholar. 

“ Never mind, I don’t care about cricket or anything 
now you’re getting well, Geordie ; and I shouldn’t have 
hurt, I know, if they’d have let me come up — nothing 
hurts me. But you’ll get about now directly, won’t you ? 
You won’t believe how clean I’ve kept the study. All 
your things are just as you left them ; and I feed the old 
magpie just when you used, though I have to come in 
from big-side for him, the old rip. He won’t look pleased 
all I can do, and sticks his head first on one side and 
then on the other, and blinks at me before he’ll begin to 
eat, till I’m half inclined to box his ears. And whenever 
East comes in, you should see him hop off to the window, 
dot and go one, though Harry wouldn’t touch a feather 
of him now.” 

Arthur laughed. “ Old Gravey has a good memory ; 
he can’t forget the sieges of poor Martin’s den in old 
times.” He paused a moment, and then went on. “ You 

341 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

can’t think how often I’ve been thinking of old Martin 
since I’ve been ill ; I suppose one’s mind gets restless, 
and likes to wander off to strange unknown places. I 
wonder what queer new pets the old boy has got ; how 
he must be revelling in the thousand new birds, beasts, 
and fishes.” 

Tom felt a pang of jealousy, but kicked it out in a 
moment. “ Fancy him on a South-Sea Island, with the 
Cherokees or Patagonians, or some such wild niggers ” 
(Tom’s ethnology and geography were faulty, but suffi- 
cient for his needs) ; “ they’ll make the old Madman 
cock medicine-man and tattoo him all over. Perhaps 
he’s cutting about now all blue, and has a squaw and a 
wigwam. He’ll improve their boomerangs,' and be able 
to throw them too, without having old Thomas sent after 
him by the Doctor to take them away.” 

Arthur laughed at the remembrance of the boomerang 
story, but then looked grave again, and said, “ He’ll con- 
vert all the island, I know.” 

“Yes, if he don’t blow it up first.” 

“ Do you remember, Tom, how you and East used 
to laugh at him and chaff him, because he said he was 
sure the rooks all had calling-over or prayers, or some- 
thing of the sort, when the locking-up bell rang ? Well, 
I declare,” said Arthur, looking up seriously into Tom’s 
laughing eyes, “ I do think he was right. Since I’ve 
been lying here. I’ve watched them every night ; and do 
you know, they really do come, and perch all of them 
just about locking-up time ; and then first there’s a reg- 
342 


Fever in the School 


ular chorus of caws, and then they stop a bit, and one 
old fellow, or perhaps two or three in different trees, caw 
solos, and then off they all go again, fluttering about and 
cawing anyhow till they roost.” 

“ I wonder if the old blackies do talk,” said Tom, 
looking up at them. How they must abuse me and 
East, and pray for the Doctor for stopping the slinging.” 

“ There ! look, look !” cried Arthur ; “ don’t you see 
the old fellow without a tail coming up ? Martin used 
to call him the ‘ clerk.’ He can’t steer himself You 
never saw such fun as he is in a high wind, when he can’t 
steer himself home, and gets carried right past the trees, 
and has to bear up again and again before he can perch.” 

The locking-up bell began to toll, and the two boys 
were silent, and listened to it. The sound soon carried 
Tom off to the river and the woods, and he began to go 
over in his mind the many occasions on which he had 
heard that toll coming faintly down the breeze, and had 
to pack up his rod in a hurry, and make a run for it, to 
get in before the gates were shut. He was roused with 
a start from his memories by Arthur’s voice, gentle and 
weak from his late illness. 

‘‘ Tom, will you be angry if 1 talk to you very 
seriously ? ” 

No, dear old boy, not I. But ain’t you faint, Arthur, 
or ill ? What can I get you ? Don’t say anything to 
hurt yourself now — you are very weak ; let me come up 
again.” 

“ No, no, I shan’t hurt myself : I’d sooner speak to 
343 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

you now, if you don’t mind. I’ve asked Mary to tell 
the Poctor that you are with me, so you needn’t go 
down to calling-over ; and I mayn’t have another chance, 
for I shall most likely have to go home for change of air 
to get well, and mayn’t come back this half” 

“ Oh, do you think you must go away before the end 
of the half? I’m so sorry. It’s more than five weeks 
yet to the holidays, and all the fifth-form examination and 
half the cricket matches to come yet. And what shall I 
do all that time alone in our study ? Why, Arthur, it 
will be more than twelve weeks before I see you again. 
Oh, hang it, I can’t stand that ! Besides, who’s to keep 
me up to working at the examination books ? I shall come 
out bottom of the form as sure as eggs is eggs.” 

Tom was rattling on, half in joke, half in earnest, for 
he wanted to get Arthur out of his serious vein, thinking 
it would do him harm ; but Arthur broke in — 

“ Oh, please, Tom, stop, or you’ll drive all I had to 
say out of my head. And I’m already horribly afraid 
I’m going to make you angry.” 

‘‘ Don’t gammon, young ’un,” rejoined Tom (the use 
of the old name, dear to him from old recollections, made 
Arthur start and smile, and feel quite happy); “ you 
know you ain’t afraid, and you’ve never made me angry 
since the first month we chummed together. Now I’m 
going to be quite sober for a quarter of an hour, which is 
more than I am once in a year ; so make the most of it ; 
heave ahead, and pitch into me right and left.” 

“ Dear Tom, I ain’t going to pitch into you,” said 
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Fever in the School 


Arthur piteously ; ‘‘ and it seems so cocky in me to be 
advising you, whoVe been my backbone ever since IVe 
been at Rugby, and have made the school a paradise to 
me. Ah, I see I shall never do it, unless I go head- 
over-heels at once, as you said when you taught me to 
swim. Tom, I want you to give up using vulgus-books 
and cribs.’' 

Arthur sank back on to his pillow with a sigh, as if 
the effort had been great; but the worst was now over, 
and he looked straight at Tom, who was evidently taken 
aback. He leaned his elbows on his knees, and stuck his 
hands into his hair, whistled a verse of Billy Taylor,” 
and then was quite silent for another minute. Not a 
shade crossed his face, but he was clearly puzzled. At 
last he looked up and caught Arthur’s anxious look, took 
his hand, and said simply — 

‘‘ Why, young ’un ? ” 

“ Because you’re the honestest boy in Rugby, and 
that ain’t honest.” • 

“ I don’t see that.” 

What were you sent to Rugby for ? ” 

Well, I don’t know exactly — nobody ever told me. 
I suppose because all boys are sent to a public school in 
England.” 

“But what do you think yourself? What do you 
want to do here, and to carry away ? ” 

Tom thought a minute. “ I want to be Ai at cricket 
and football, and all the other games, and to make my 
hands keep my head against any fellow, lout or gentle- 
345 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

man. I want to get into the sixth before I leave, and to 
please the Doctor ; and I want to carry away just as 
much Latin and Greek as will take me through Oxford 
respectably. There now, young 'un, I never thought 
of it before, but that’s pretty much about my figure. 
Ain’t it all on the square What have you got to say 
to that?” 

‘‘ Why, that you are pretty sure to do all that you 
want, then.” 

Well, I hope so. But you’ve forgot one thing, 
what I want to leave behind me. I want to leave 
behind me,” said Tom, speaking slow, and looking 
much moved, ‘‘ the name of a fellow who never bullied 
a little boy, or turned his back on a big one.” 

‘‘Arthur pressed his hand, and after a moment’s 
silence went on: “You say, Tom, ypu want to please 
the Doctor. Now, do you want to please him by what 
he thinks you do, or by what you really do ? ” 

“ By what I really do, of t:ourse.” 

“ Does he think you use cribs and vulgus-books ? ” 

Tom felt at once that his flank was turned, but he 
couldn’t give in. “ He was at Winchester himself,” 
said he ; “ he knows all about it.” 

“Yes, but does he think you use them? Do you 
think he approves of it ? ” 

“You young villain ! ” said Tom, shaking his fist at 
Arthur, half vexed and half pleased, “ I never think 
about it. Hang it — there, perhaps he don’t. Well, I 
suppose he don’t.” 


346 


Fever in the School 


Arthur saw that he had got his point ; he knew his 
friend well, and was wise in silence, as in speech. He 
only said, ‘‘ I would sooner have the Doctor’s good 
opinion of me as I really am than any man’s in the 
world.” 

“After another minute, Tom began again: “Look 
here, young ’un ; how on earth am I to get time to play 
the matches this half, if I give up cribs ? We’re in the 
middle of that long crabbed chorus in the “Agamem- 
non ” ; I can only just make head or tail of it with the 
crib. Then there’s Pericles’ speech coming on in Thu- 
cydides, and ‘ The Birds ’ to get up for the examination, 
besides the Tacitus.” Tom groaned at the thought of 
his accumulated labors. “ I say, young ’un, there’s only 
five weeks or so left to holidays ; mayn’t I go on as 
usual for this half I’ll tell the Doctor about it some 
day, or you may.” 

Arthur looked out of the window ; the twilight had 
come on and all was silent. He repeated, in a low voice, 
“In this thing the Lord pardon thy servant, that when 
my master goeth into the house of Rimmon to worship 
there, and he leaneth on my hand, and I bow myself in 
the house of Rimmon : when I bow down myself in the 
house of Rimmon, the Lord pardon thy servant in this 
thing.” 

Not a word more was said on the subject, and the 
boys were again silent — one of those blessed, short 
silences in which the resolves which color a life are so 
often taken. 


347 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

Tom was the first to break it. “ YouVe been very 
ill indeed, haven’t you, Geordie ? ” said he, with a mixture 
of awe and curiosity, feeling as if his friend had been in 
some strange place or Scene, of which he could form no 
idea, and full of the memory of his own thoughts during 
the last week. 

“Yes, very. I’m sure the Doctor thought I was 
going to die. He gave me the sacrament last Sunday, 
and you can’t think what he is when one is ill. He said 
such brave, and tender, and gentle things to me ; I felt 
quite light and strong after it, and never had any more 
fear. My mother brought our old medical man, who 
attended me when I was a poor sickly child ; he said my 
constitution was quite changed, and that I’m fit for any- 
thing now. If it hadn’t, I couldn’t have stood three 
days of this illness. That’s all thanks to you, and the 
games you’ve made me fond of.” 

“More thanks to old Martin,’-’ said Tom; “he’s 
been your real friend.” 

“Nonsense, Tom ; he never could have done for me 
what you have.” 

“Well, I don’t know; I did little enough. Did they 
tell you — you won’t mind hearing it now, I know, — that 
poor Thompson died last week ? The other three boys 
are getting quite round, like you.” 

“Oh, yes, I heard of it.” 

Then Tom, who was quite full of it, told Arthur of 
the burial-service in the chapel, and how it had impressed 
him, and he believed all the other boys. “ And though 
348 


Fever in the School 


the Doctor never said a word about it,” said he, “ and it 
was a half-holiday and match-day, there wasn’t a game 
played in the close all the afternoon, and the boys all went 
about as if it were Sunday.” 

“ I’m very glad of it,” said Arthur. But, Tom, 
I’ve had such strange thoughts about death lately. I’ve 
never told a soul of them, not even my mother. Some- 
times I think they’re wrong ; but, do you know, I don’t 
think in my heart I could be sorry at the death of any 
of my friends.” 

Tom was taken quite aback. “ What in the world is 
the young ’un after now ? ” thought he ; “ I’ve swallowed a 
good many of his crotchets, but this altogether beats me. 
He can’t be quite right in his head.” He didn’t want to 
say a word, and shifted about uneasily in the dark ; how- 
ever, Arthur seemed to be waiting for an answer, so at 
last he said, I don’t think I quite see what you mean, 
Geordie. One’s told so often to think about death, that 
I’ve tried it on sometimes, especially this last week. But 
we won’t talk of it now. I’d better go — you’re getting 
tired, and I shall do you harm.” 

‘‘No, no, indeed I ain’t, Tom; you must stop till 
nine, there’s only twenty minutes. I’ve settled you shall 
stop till nine. And oh ! do let me talk to you — I must 
talk to you. I see it’s just as I feared. You think I’m 
half mad — don’t you now? ” 

“Well, I did think it odd what you said, Geordie, as 
you ask me.” 

Arthur paused a moment, and then said quickly “ I’ll 
349 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

tell you how it all happened. At first, when I was sent to 
the sick room, and found I had really got the fever, I was 
terribly frightened. I thought I should die, and I could 
not face it for a moment. I don’t think it was sheer 
cowardice at first, but I thought how hard it was to be 
taken away from my mother and sisters, and you all, just 
as I was beginning to see my way to many things, and to 
feel that I might be a man and do a man’s work. To 
die without having fought, and worked, and given one’s 
life away, was too hard to bear. I got terribly im- 
patient, and accused God of injustice, and strove to justify 
myself; and the harder I strove the deeper I sank. 
Then the image of my dear father often came across me, 
but I turned from it. Whenever it came, a heavy numb- 
ing throb seemed to take hold of my heart and say, 
‘ Dead — dead — dead.’ And I cried out, ‘ The living, the 
living shall praise Thee, O God ; the dead cannot praise 
Thee. There is no work in the grave ; in the night no man 
can work. But I can work. I can do great things. I 
will do great things. Why wilt Thou slay me ? ’ And 
so I struggled and plunged, deeper and deeper, and went 
down into a living black tomb. I was alone there, with 
no power to stir or think ; alone with myself ; beyond 
the reach of all human fellowship ; beyond Christ’s reach, 
I thought, in my nightmare. You, who are brave and 
bright and strong, can have no idea of that agony. Pray 
to God you never may. Pray as for your life.” 

Arthur stopped — from exhaustion, Tom thought; 
but what between his fear lest Arthur should hurt himself, 

350 


Fever in the School 


his awe, and longing for him to go on, he couldn't ask, 
or stir to help him. 

Presently he went on, but quite calm and slow. “ I 
don't know how long I was in that state. For more than 
a day, I know ; for I was quite conscious, and lived my 
outer life all the time, and took my medicine, and spoke 
to my mother, and heard what they said. But I didn't take 
much note of time ; I thought time was over for me, and 
that that tomb was what was beyond. Well, on last Sun- 
day morning, as I seemed to lie in that tomb, alone, as I 
thought, for ever and ever, the black dead wall was cleft 
in two, and I was caught up and borne through into the 
light by some great power, some living, mighty spirit. 
Tom, do you remember the living creatures and the 
wheels in Ezekiel? It was just like that: ‘when they 
went I heard the noise of their wings, like the noise of 
great waters, as the voice of the Almighty, the voice of 
speech, as the noise of an host ; when they stood they let 
down their wings ' — ‘ and they went every one straight for- 
ward ; whither the spirit was to go they went, and they 
turned not when they went.' And we rushed through the 
bright air, which was full of myriads of living creatures, 
and paused on the brink of a great river. And the power 
held me up, and I knew that that great river was the grave 
and death dwelt there ; but not the death I had met in 
the black tomb — that I felt was gone forever. For on the 
other bank of the great river I saw men and women and 
children rising up pure and bright, and the tears were 
wiped from their eyes, and they put on glory and strength, 

351 


Tom Brown’s School Days 


and all weariness and pain fell away. And beyond were 
a multitude which no man could number, and they worked 
at some great work ; and they who rose from the river went 
on and joined in the work. They all worked, and each 
worked in a different way, but all at the same work. And 
I saw there my father, and the men in the old town whom 
I knew when I was a child ; many a hard, stern man, who 
never came to church, and whom they called atheist and 
infidel. There they were, side by side with my father, 
whom I had seen toil and die for them, and women and 
little children, and the seal was on the foreheads of all. 
And I longed to see what the work was, and could not ; 
so I tried to plunge in the river, for I thought I would 
join them, but I could not. Then I looked about to see 
how they got into the river. And this I could not see, 
but I saw myriads on this side, and they too worked, and 
I knew that it was the same work ; and the same seal was 
on their foreheads. And though I saw that there was toil 
and anguish in the work of these, and that most that were 
working were blind and feeble, yet I longed no more to 
plunge into the river, but more and more to know what 
the work was. And as I looked I saw my mother and 
my sisters, and I saw the Doctor, and you, Tom, and hun- 
dreds more whom I knew ; and at last I saw myself too, 
and I was toiling and doing ever so little a piece of the 
great work. Then it all melted away, and the power left 
me, and as it left me I thought I heard a voice say, 
‘ The vision is for an appointed time ; though it tarry, 
wait for it, for in the end it shall speak and not lie, 


Fever in the School 


it shall surely come, it shall not tarry/ It was early 
morning I know then, it was so quiet and cool, and my 
mother was fast asleep in the chair by my bedside ; but 
it wasn't only a dream of mine. I know it wasn't a dream. 
Then I fell into a deep sleep, and only woke after after- 
noon chapel ; and the Doctor came and gave me the sacra- 
ment, as I told you. I told him and my mother I should 
get well — I knew I should ; but I couldn't tell them 
why. Tom," said Arthur, gently, after another minute, 
“ do you see why I could not grieve now to see my dear- 
est friend die ? It can't be — it isn't, all fever or illness. 
God would never have let me see it so clear if it wasn't 
true. I don't understand it all yet — it will take me my 
life and longer to do that — to find out what the work is." 

When Arthur stopped there was a long pause. Tom 
could not speak, he was almost afraid to breathe, lest he 
should break the train of Arthur's thoughts. He longed 
to hear more, and to ask questions. In another minute 
nine o'clock struck, and a gentle tap at the door called 
them both back into the world again. They did not 
answer, however, for a moment, and so the door opened 
and a lady came in carrying a candle. 

She went straight to the sofa, and took hold of Arthur's 
hand, and then stooped down and kissed him. 

My dearest boy, you feel a little feverish again. 
Why didn't you have lights ? You've talked too much 
and excited yourself in the dark." 

“ Oh, no, mother ; you can't think how well I feel. 
I shall start with you to-morrow for Devonshire. But, 
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Vol. i6— L 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

mother, here's my friend, here's Tom Brown — you know 
him ? " 

“Yes, indeed. I've known him for years," she said, 
and held out her hand to Tom, who was now standing 
up behind the sofa. This was Arthur's mother. Tall 
and slight and fair, with masses of golden hair drawn back 
from the broad white forehead, and the calm blue eye 
meeting his so deep and open — the eye that he knew so 
well, for it was his friend's over again, and the lovely 
tender mouth that trembled while he looked. She stood 
there a woman of thirty-eight, old enough to be his 
mother, and one whose face showed the lines which must 
be written upon the faces of good men's wives and 
widows — but he thought he had never seen anything so 
beautiful. He couldn't help wondering if Arthur's sisters 
were like her. 

Tom held her hand, and looked on straight in her 
face ; he could neither let it go nor speak. 

“Now, Tom," said Arthur, laughing, “where are 
your manners ? you'll stare my mother out of counte- 
nance." Tom dropped the little hand with a sigh. 
“ There, sit down, both of you. Here, dearest mother, 
there's room here ; — " and he made a place on the sofa 
for her. “Tom, you needn't go; I'm sure you won't 
be called up at first lesson." Tom felt that he would 
risk being floored at every lessorf for the rest of his 
natural school-life sooner than go, so sat dov/n. “ And 
now," said Arthur, “ I have realized one of the dearest 
wishes of my life — to see you two together." 

354 


Fever in the School 

And then he led away the talk to their home in 
Devonshire, and the red bright earth, and the deep green 
combes, and the peat streams like cairngorm pebbles, and 
the wild moor with its high cloudy Tors for a giant back- 
ground to the picture — till Tom got jealous, and stood 
up for the clear chalk streams, and the emerald water 
meadows and great elms and willows of the dear old 
Royal county, as he gloried to call it. And the mother 
sat on quiet and loving, rejoicing in their life. The 
quarter-to-ten struck, and the bell rang for bed before 
they had well begun their talk, as it seemed. 

Then Tom rose with a sigh to go. 

Shall I see you in the morning, Geordie ? ” said he, 
as he shook his friend's hand. “ Never mind though ; 
you’ll be back next half, and I shan’t forget the house of 
Rimmon.” 

Arthur’s mother got up and walked with him to the 
door, and there gave him her hand again, and again his 
eyes met that deep loving look, which was like a spell 
upon him. Her voice trembled slightly as she said. 
Good night — you are one who knows what our Father 
has promised to the friend of the widow and the father- 
less. May He deal with you as you have dealt with me 
and mine ! ” 

Tom was quite upset; he mumbled something about 
owing everything good in him to Geordie — looked in her 
face again, pressed her hand to his lips, and rushed down- 
stairs to his study, where he sat till old Thomas came 
kicking at the door, to tell him his allowance would be 
355 


Tom Brown’s School Days 


Stopped if he didn’t go off to bed. (It would have been 
stopped anyhow, but that he was a great favorite with the 
old gentleman, who loved to come out in the afternoons 
into the close to Tom’s wicket, and bowl slow twisters 
to him, and talk of the glories of bygone Surrey heroes, 
with whom he had played in former generations.) So 
Tom roused himself, and took up his candle to go to 
bed ; and then for the first time was aware of a beautiful 
new fishing-rod, with old Eton’s mark on it, and a splen- 
didly bound Bible, which lay on his table, on the title- 
page of which was written — ^‘Tom Brown, from his 
affectionate and grateful friends, Frances Jane Arthur; 
George Arthur.” 

I leave you all to guess how he slept, and what he 
dreamed of. 


356 


CHAPTER VII 

HARRV east’s DILEMMAS AND DELIVERANCES 

‘ ‘ The Holy Supper is kept indeed, 

In whatso we share with another’s need — 

Not that which we give, but what we share, 

For the gift without the giver is bare : 

Who bestows himself with his alms feeds three. 

Himself, his hungering neighbor, and Me.” 

The Vision of Sir Launfal. — Lowell 

rr^HE next morning, after breakfast, Tom, East, 
I and Gower met as usual to learn their second 
lesson together. Tom had been considering 
how to break his proposal of giving up the crib to the 
others, and having found no better way (as indeed none 
better can ever be found by man or boy), told them 
simply what had happened ; how he had been to see 
Arthur, who had talked to him upon the subject, and 
what he had said, and for his part he had made up his 
mind, and wasn’t going to use cribs any more : and not 
being quite sure of his ground, took the high and pa- 
thetic tone, and was proceeding to say, “ how that having 
learnt his lessons with them for so many years, it would 
grieve him much to put an end to the arrangement, and 
he hoped at any rate that if they wouldn’t go on with 
him, they should still be just as good friends, and re- 
spect one another’s motives — but — ” 

Here the other boys, who had been listening with open 
eyes and ears, burst in — 


357 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

“ Stuff and nonsense ! ” cried Gower. “ Here, East, 
get down the crib and find the place.” 

‘‘ Ohj Tommy, Tommy ! ” said East, proceeding to 
do as he was bidden, that it should ever have come to 
this. I knew Arthur’d be the ruin of you some day, and 
you of me. And now the time’s come” — and he made a 
doleful face. 

‘‘ I don’t know about ruin,” answered Tom ; I know 
that you and I would have had the sack long ago, if it 
hadn’t been for him. And you know it as well as I.” 

“ Well, we were in a baddish way before he came, I 
own; but this new crotchet of his is past a joke.” 

“ Let’s give it a trial, Harry ; come — you know how 
often he has been right and we wrong.” 

Now, don’t you two be jawing away about young 
Square-toes,” struck in Gower. “ He’s no end of a suck- 
ing wiseacre, I dare say, but we’ve no time to lose, and 
I’ve got the fives’-court at half-past nine.” 

say, Gower,” said Tom, appealingly, ‘‘be a good 
fellow, and let’s try if we can’t get on without the crib.” 

“ What ! in this chorus ? Why, we shan’t get through 
ten lines.” 

“ I say, Tom,” cried East, having hit on a new idea, 
“ don’t you remember, when we were in the upper fourth, 
and old Momus caught me construing off the leaf of a crib 
which I’d torn out and put in my book, and which would 
float out on to the floor, he sent me up to be flogged for 
it?” 

“Yes, I remember it very well.” 

358 


East’s Dilemmas and Deliverances 


‘‘Well, the Doctor, after he’d flogged me, told me 
himself that he didn’t flog me for using a translation, but 
for taking it into lesson, and using it there when I hadn’t 
learnt a word before I came in. He said there was no 
harm in using a translation to get a clue to hard passages, 
if you tried all you could first to make them out without.” 

“ Did he, though ? ” said Tom then Arthur must be 
wrong.” 

“ Of course he is,” said Gower, “ the little prig. We’K 
only use the crib when we can’t construe without it. Go 
ahead. East.” 

And on this agreement they started ; Tom satisfied 
with having made his confession, and not sorry to have 
a locus pcenitenti^y and not to be deprived altogether of 
the use of his old and faithful friend. 

The boys went on as usual, each taking a sentence in 
turn, and the crib being handed to the one whose turn 
it was to construe. Of course Tom couldn’t object to 
this, as, was it not simply lying there to be appealed to in 
case the sentence should prove too hard altogether for 
the construer ? But it must be owned that Gower and 
East did not make very tremendous exertions to conquer 
their sentences before having recourse to its help. 
Tom, however, with the most heroic virtue and gallantry 
rushed into his sentence, searching in a high-minded 
manner for nominative and verb, and turning over his 
dictionary frantically for the first hard word that stopped 
him. But in the meantime Gower, who was bent on 
getting to fives, would peep quietly into the crib, and 
359 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

then suggest, ‘‘ Don't you think this is the meaning ? " 
“ I think you must take it this way, Brown and as Tom 
didn't see his way to not profiting by these suggestions, 
the lesson went on about as quickly as usual, and Gower 
was able to start for the fives'-court within five minutes 
of the half hour. 

When Tom and East were left face to face, they 
looked at one another for a minute, Tom puzzled, and 
East chock-full of fun, and then burst into a roar of 
laughter. 

‘‘ Well, Tom," said East, recovering himself, “ I don't 
see any objection to the new way. It's about as good 
as the old one, I think ; besides the advantage it gives 
one of feeling virtuous, and looking down on one's 
neighbors." 

Tom shoved his hand into his back hair. “ I ain't 
so sure," said he ; ‘‘ you two fellows carried me off my 
legs : I don't think we really tried one sentence fairly. 
Are you sure you remember what the Doctor said to 
you?" 

“Yes. And I'll swear I couldn't make out one of 
my sentences to-day. No, nor ever could. I really 
don't remember," said East, speaking slowly and im- 
pressively, “ to have come across one Latin or Greek 
sentence this half, that I could go and construe by the 
light of nature. Whereby I am sure Providence intended 
cribs to be used." 

“ The thing to find out," said Tom meditatively, “ is 
how long one ought to grind at a sentence without look- 
3bo 


East’s Dilemmas and Deliverances 


ing at the crib. Now I think if one fairly looks out 
all the words one don’t know, and then can’t hit it, that’s 
enough.” 

‘‘ To be sure. Tommy,” said East demurely, but with 
cl merry twinkle in his eye. ‘‘Your new doctrine too, 
old fellow,” added he, “ when one comes to think of it, 
is a cutting at the root of all school morality. .You’ll 
take away mutual help, brotherly love, or in the vulgar 
tongue, giving construes, which 1 hold to be one of our 
highest virtues. For how can you distinguish between 
getting a construe from another boy, and using a crib ? 
Hang it, Tom, if you’re going to deprive all our school- 
fellows of the chance of exercising Christian benevolence 
and being good Samaritans, I shall cut the concern.” 

“ I wish you wouldn’t joke about it, Harry ; it’s 
hard enough to see one’s way, a precious sight harder 
than I thought last night. But I suppose there’s a use 
and an abuse of both, and one’ll get straight enough 
somehow. But you can’t make out anyhow that one has 
a right to use old vulgus-books and copy-books.” 

“ Hullo, more heresy 1 how fast a fellow goes down 
hill when he once gets his head before his legs. Listen 
to me, Tom. Not use old vulgus-books ? — why, you 
Goth ! ain’t we to take the benefit of the wisdom, and 
admire and use the work of past generations ? Not use 
old copy-books ! Why you might as well say we ought 
to pull down Westminster Abbey, and put up a go-to- 
meeting-shop with churchwarden windows ; or never read 
Shakespeare, but only Sheridan Knowles. Think of all 
361 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

the work and labor that our predecessors have bestowed 
on these very books ; and are we to make their work of 
no value ? ” 

‘‘ I say, Harry, please don’t chaff ; I’m really serious.” 

And then, is it not our duty to consult the pleasure 
of others rather than our own, and above all that of our 
masters ? Fancy then the difference to them in looking over 
avulgus which has been carefully touched and retouched 
by themselves and others, and which must bring them a 
sort of dreamy pleasure, as if they’d met the thought or 
expression of it somewhere or another — before they were 
born perhaps ; and that of cutting up, and making pic- 
ture-frames round all your and my false quantities, and 
other monstrosities. Why, Tom, you wouldn’t be so 
cruel as never to let old Momus hum over the ‘ O genus 
humanum,’ again, and then look up doubtingly through 
his spectacles, and end by smiling and giving three extra 
marks for it : just for old sake’s sake, I suppose.” 

Well,” said Tom, getting up in something as like a 
huff as he was capable of, it’s deuced hard that when 
a fellow’s really trying to do what he ought, his best 
friends’ll do nothing but chaff him and try to put him 
down.” And he stuck his books under his arm and his 
hat on his head, preparatory to rushing out into the 
quadrangle, to testify with his own soul of the faithlessness 
of friendships. 

‘‘Now don’t be an ass, Tom,” said East, catching 
hold of him, “ you know me well enough by this time ; 
my bark’s worse than my bite. You can’t expect to ride 
362 


East’s Dilemmas and Deliverances 


your new crotchet without anybody’s trying to stick a 
nettle under his tail and make him kick you off ; espe- 
cially as we shall all have to go on foot still. But now 
sit down and let’s go over it again. I’ll be as serious 
as a judge.” 

Then Tom sat himself down on the table, and waxed 
eloquent about all the righteousnesses and advantages 
of the new plan, as was his wont whenever he took up 
anything ; going into it as if his life depended upon it, 
and sparing no abuse which he could think of of the 
opposite method, which he denounced as ungentlemanly, 
cowardly, mean, lying, and no one knows what besides. 
“Very cool of Tom,” as East thought, but didn’t say, 
“ seeing as how he only came out of Egypt himself last 
night at bed-time.” 

“ Well, Tom,” said he at last, “you see, when you 
and I came to school there were none of these sort of 
notions. You may be right — I dare say you are. Only 
what one has always felt about the masters is, that it’s 
a fair trial of skill and last between us and them — like a 
match at football, or a battle. We’re natural enemies in 
school, that’s the fact. We’ve got to learn so much 
Latin and Greek and do so many verses, and they’ve got 
to see that we do it. If we can slip the collar and do so 
much less without getting caught, that’s one to us. If 
they can get more out of us, or catch us shirking, that’s 
one to them. All’s fair in war, but lying. If I run my 
luck against theirs, and go into school without looking 
at my lessons, and don’t get called up, why am I a snob 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

or a sneak? I don’t tell the master I’ve learned it. 
He’s got to find out whether I have or not; what’s he 
paid for ? If he calls me up, and I get floored, he makes 
me write it out in Greek and English. Very good, he’s 
caught me, and I don’t grumble. I grant you, if I go 
and snivel to him, and tell him I’ve really tried to learn 
it but found it so hard without a translation, or say I’ve 
had a toothache, or any humbug of that kind. I’m a 
snob. That’s my school morality ; it’s served me — and 
you too, Tom, for the matter of that — these five years. 
And it’s all clear and fair, no mistake about it. We 
understand it, and they understand it, and I don’t know 
what we’re to come to with any other.” 

Tom looked at him pleased, and a little puzzled. He 
had never heard East speak his mind seriously before, 
and couldn’t help feeling how completely he had hit his 
own theory and practice up to that time. 

‘‘Thank you, old fellow,” said he. “You’re a good 
old brick to be serious, and not put out with me. I said 
more than I meant, I dare say, only you see I know I’m 
right : whatever you and Gower and the rest do, I shall 
hold on — I must. And as it’s all new and an up-hill 
game, you see, one must hit hard and hold on tight at 
first.” 

“ Very good,” said East ; “ hold on and hit away, only 
don’t hit under the line.” 

“ But I must bring you over, Harry, or I shan’t be 
comfortable. Now, I allow all you’ve said. We’ve 
always been honorable enemies with the masters. We 
3^4 


East’s Dilemmas and Deliverances 

found a state of war when we came, and went into it of 
course. Only don’t you think things are altered a good 
deal ? I don’t feel as 1 used to the masters. They seem 
to me to treat one quite differently.” 

“ Yes, perhaps they do,” said East ; “ there’s a new 
set, you see, mostly, who don’t feel sure of themselves 
yet. They don’t want to fight till they know the 
ground.” 

‘‘ I don’t think it’s only that,” said Tom. “ And 
then the Doctor, he does treat one so openly, and like a 
gentleman, and as if one was working with him.” 

‘‘Well, so he does,” said East; “he’s a splendid 
fellow, and when I get into the sixth I shall act 
accordingly. Only you know he has nothing to do with 
our lessons now, except examining us. I say, though,” 
looking at his watch, “ it’s just the quarter. Come along.” 

As they walked out they got a message to say, “ that 
Arthur was just starting and would like to say good- 
by ; ” so they went down to the private entrance of the 
School-house, and found an open carriage, with Arthur 
propped up with pillows in it, looking already better, 
Tom thought. 

They jumped up on to the steps to shake hands with 
him, and Tom mumbled thanks for the presents he had 
found in his study, and looked round anxiously for 
Arthur’s mother. 

East, who had fallen back into his usual humor 
looked quaintly at Arthur, and said — 

“ So you’ve been at it again, through that hot-headed 

365 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

convert of yours there. He’s been making our lives a 
burden to us all the morning about using cribs. I shall 
get floored to a certainty at second lesson, if I’m 
called up.” 

Arthur blushed and looked down. Tom struck in — 

‘‘ Oh, it’s all right. He’s converted already ; he 
always comes through the mud after us, grumbling and 
sputtering.” 

The clock struck, and they had to go off to school, 
wishing Arthur a pleasant holiday; Tom lingering 
behind a moment to send his thanks and love to 
Arthur’s mother. 

Tom renewed the discussion after second lesson and 
succeeded so far as to get East to promise to give the 
new plan a fair trial. 

Encouraged by his success, in the evening, when they 
were sitting alone in the large study, where East lived now 
almost, ‘Wice Arthur on leave,” after examining the new 
fishing-rod, which both pronounced to be the genuine 
article play enough to throw a midge tied on a single 
hair against the wind, and strength enough to hold a 
grampus,”) they naturally began talking about Arthur. 
Tom, who was still bubbling over with last night’s scene, 
and all the thoughts of the last week, and wanting to 
clinch and fix the whole in his own mind, which he could 
never do without first going through the process of be- 
laboring somebody else with it all, suddenly rushed into 
the subject of Arthur’s illness, and what he had said about 
death. 


366 


East’s Dilemmas and Deliverances 


East had given him the desired opening : after a 
serio-comic grumble, “ that life wasn’t worth having 
now they were tied to a young beggar who was always 
‘ raising his standard ’ ; and that he, East, was like a 
prophet’s donkey, who was obliged to struggle on after 
the donkey-man who went after the prophet; that he 
had none of the pleasure of starting the new crotchets, 
and didn’t half understand them,, but had to take the 
kicks, and carry the luggage as if he had all the fun ” — 
he threw his legs up on to the sofa, and put his hands 
behind his head, and said — 

“Well, after all, he’s the most wonderful little fellow 
I ever came across. There ain’t such a meek, humble 
boy in the School. Hanged if I don’t think now really, 
Tom, that he believes himself a much worse fellow than 
you or I, and that he don’t think he has more influence 
in the house than Dot Bowles, who came last quarter, 
and ain’t ten yet. But he turns' you and me round his 
little finger, old boy — there’s no mistake about that.” 
And East nodded at Tom sagaciously. 

“Now or never!” thought Tom; so shutting his 
eyes and hardening his heart, he went straight at it, re- 
peating all that Arthur had said, as near as he could 
remember it, in the very words, and all he had himself 
thought. The life seemed to ooze out of it as he went 
on, and several times he felt inclined to stop, give it all 
up, and change the subject. But somehow he was borne 
on ; he had a necessity upon him to speak it all out, and 
did so. At the end he looked at East with some anxiety, 

367 


Tom Brownes School Days 


and was delighted to see that that young gentleman was 
thoughtful and attentive. The fact is, that in the stage 
of his inner life at which Tom had lately arrived, his in- 
timacy with and friendship for East could not have lasted 
if he had not made him aware of, and a sharer in, the 
thoughts that were beginning to exercise him. Nor in- 
deed could the friendship have lasted if East had shown 
no sympathy with these thoughts ; so that it was a great 
relief to have unbosomed himself, and to have found that 
his friend could listen. 

Tom had always had a sort of instinct that East’s 
levity was only skin-deep ; and this instinct was a true 
one. East had no want of reverence for anything he 
felt to be real : but his was one of those natures that 
burst into what is generally called recklessness and im- 
piety the moment they feel that anything is being poured 
upon them for their good, which does not come home 
to their inborn sense of right, or which appeals to any- 
thing like self-interest in them. Daring and honest by 
nature, and outspoken to an extent which alarmed all 
respectabilities, with a constant fund of animal health and 
spirits which he did not feel bound to curb in any way, 
he had gained for himself with the steady part of the 
School (including as well those who wished to appear 
steady as those who really were so), the character of a 
boy whom it would be dangerous to be intimate with ; 
while his own hatred of everything cruel, or underhand, 
or false, and his hearty respect for what he could see to 
be good and true, kept off the rest. 

368 


East’s Dilemmas and Deliverances 


Tom, besides being very like East in many points of 
character, had largely developed in his composition the 
capacity for taking the weakest side. This is not putting 
it strongly enough ; it was a necessity with him ; he 
couldn’t help it any more than he could eating or drink- 
ing. He could never play on the strongest side with 
any heart at foot-ball or cricket, and was sure to make 
friends with any boy who was unpopular, or down on 
his luck. 

Now though East was not what is generally called 
unpopular, Tom felt more and more every day, as their 
characters developed, that he stood alone, and did not 
make friends among their contemporaries, and therefore 
sought him out. Tom was himself much more popular, 
for his power of detecting humbug was much less acute, 
and his instincts were much more sociable. He was at 
this period of his life, too, largely given to taking people 
for what they gave themselves out to be ; but his single- 
ness of heart, fearlessness and honesty were just what 
East appreciated, and thus the two had been drawn into 
greater intimacy. 

This intimacy had not been interrupted by Tom’s 
guardianship of Arthur. 

East had often, as has been said, joined them in read- 
ing the Bible ; but their discussions had almost always 
turned upon the characters of the men and women of 
whom they read, and not become personal to themselves. 
In fact, the two had shrunk from personal religious dis- 
cussion, not knowing hov/ it might end ; and fearful of 

369 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

risking a friendship very dear to both, and which they 
felt somehow, without quite knowing why, would never 
be the same, but either tenfold stronger or sapped at its 
foundation, after such a communing together. 

What a bother all this explaining is ! I wish we could 
get on without it. But we can’t. However, you’ll all 
find, if you haven’t found it out already, that a time 
comes in every human friendship, when you must go 
down into the depths of yourself, and lay bare what is 
there to your friend, and wait in fear for his answer. A 
few moments may do it ; and it may be (most likely will be, 
as you are English boys) that you never do it but once. 
But done it must be, if the friendship is to be worth the 
name. You must find what is there, at the very root 
and bottom of one another’s hearts ; and if you are at 
once there, nothing on earth can, or at least ought to 
sunder you. 

East had remained lying down until Tom had finished 
speaking, as if fearing to interrupt him ; he now sat up 
at the table, and leaned his head on one hand, taking up 
a pencil with the other, and working little holes with it in 
the table-cover. After a bit he looked up, stopped the 
pencil, and said, Thank you very much, old fellow ; 
there’s no other boy in the house would have done it for 
me but you or Arthur. I can see well enough,” he went 
on after a pause, all the best big fellows look on me 
with suspicion ; they think I’m a devil-may-care, reckless 
young scamp. So I am — eleven hours out of twelve — 
but not the twelfth. Then all of our contemporaries 
370 


East’s Dilemmas and Deliverances 


worth knowing follow suit, of course ; we're very good 
friends at games and all that, but not a soul of them but 
you and Arthur ever tried to break through the crust, and 
see whether there was anything at the bottom of me ; and 
then the bad ones I won't stand, and they know that." 

“ Don't you think that's half fancy, Harry ? " 

“Not a bit of it," said East, bitterly, pegging away 
with his pencil. “ I see it all plain enough. Bless you, 
you think everybody's as straightforward and kindhearted 
as you are." 

“Well, but what's the reason of it? There must be 
a reason. You can play all the games as well as any one, 
and sing the best song, and are the best company in the 
house. You fancy you're not liked, Harry. It's all 
fancy." 

“ I only wish it was, Tom. I know I could be popu- 
lar enough with all the bad ones, but that I won’t have, 
and the good ones won’t have me." 

“Why not ?” persisted Tom; “you don’t drink or 
swear, or get out at night ; you never bully, or cheat at 
lessons. If you only showed you liked it, you’d have all 
the best fellows in the house running after you.” 

“Not I," said East. Then with an effort he went 
on, “ I'll tell you what it is. I never stop the Sacrament. 
I can see, from the Doctor downwards, how that tells 
against me." 

“Yes, I've seen that," said Tom, “and I’ve been 
very sorry for it, and Arthur and I have talked about it. 
I've often thought of speaking to you, but it's so hard to 

371 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

begin on such subjects. I’m very glad you’ve opened it. 
Now, why don’t you ? ” 

“ I’ve never been confirmed,” said East. 

“ Not been confirmed ! ” said Tom in astonishment. 
“ I never thought of that. Why weren’t you confirmed 
with the rest of us nearly three years ago ? I always 
thought you’d been confirmed at home.” 

“No,” answered East sorrowfully; “you see this 
was how it happened. Last Confirmation was soon after 
Arthur came, and you were so taken up with him, I 
hardly saw either of you. Well, when the Doctor sent 
round for us about it, I was living mostly with Green’s 
set — you know the sort. They all went in — I dare say 
it was all right, and they got good by it ; I don’t want to 
judge them. Only all I could see of their reasons drove me 
just the other way. ’Twas ‘ because the Doctor liked it ’ ; 
‘ no boy got on who didn’t stay the Sacrament ’ ; ‘ it was 
the correct thing,’ in fact, like having a good hat to wear 
on Sundays. I couldn’t stand it. I didn’t feel that I 
wanted to lead a different life, I was very well content as 
I was, and I wasn’t going to sham religious to curry 
favor with the Doctor, or any one else.” 

East stopped speaking, and pegged away more dili- 
gently than ever with his pencil. Tom was ready to cry. 
He felt half sorry at first that he had been confirmed 
himself. He seemed to have deserted his earliest friend, 
to have left him by himself at his worst need for those 
long years. He got up and went and sat by East and 
put his arm over his shoulder. 

372 


East’s Dilemmas and Deliverances 


“Dear old boy,” he said, “how careless and selfish 
I’ve been. But why didn’t you come and talk to Arthur 
and me ? ” 

“ 1 wish to heaven I had,” said East, “ but I was a 
fool. It’s too late talking of it now.” 

“Why too late? You want to be confirmed now, 
don’t you ? ” 

“ I think so,” said East. “ I’ve thought about it a 
good deal ; only often I fancy I must be changing, because 
I see it’s to do me good here, just what stopped me last 
time. And then I go back again.” 

“ I’ll tell you now how ’twas with me,” said Tom 
warmly. “ If it hadn’t been for Arthur, I should have 
done just as you did. I hope I should. I honor you 
for it. But then he made it out just as if it was taking 
the weak side before all the world — going in once for all 
against everything that’s strong and rich and proud and 
respectable, a little band of brothers against the whole 
world. And the Doctor seemed to say so too, only he 
said a great deal more.” 

“ Ah ! ” groaned East, “ but there again, that’s just 
another of my difficulties whenever I think about the 
matter. I don’t want to be one of your saints, one of 
your elect, whatever the right phrase is. My sympa- 
thies are all the other way ; with the many, the poor 
devils who run about the streets and don’t go to church. 
Don’t stare, Tom ; mind, I’m telling you all that’s in my 
heart — as far as I know it — but it’s all a muddle. You 
must be gentle with me if you want to land me. Now 
373 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

Fve seen a deal of this sort of religion ; I was bred up 
in it, and I can’t stand it. If nineteen-twentieths of the 
world are to be left to uncovenanted mercies, and that 
sort of thing, which means in plain English to go to hell, 
and the other twentieth are to rejoice at it all, why — ” 

“ Oh ! but, Harry, they ain’t, they don’t,” broke 
in Tom, really shocked. “ Oh, how I wish Arthur 
hadn’t gone ! I’m such a fool about these things. But 
it’s all you want too. East ; it is indeed. It cuts both 
ways somehow, being confirmed and taking the Sacra- 
ment. It makes you feel on the side of all the good and 
all the bad too, of everybody in the world. Only there’s 
some great dark strong power, which is crushing you and 
everybody else. That’s what Christ conquered, and 
we’ve got to fight. What a fool I am ! I can’t explain. 
If Arthur were only here ! ” 

“ I begin to get a glimmering of what you mean,” 
said East. 

“ I say now,” said Tom eagerly, “do you remember 
how we both hated Flashman ? ” 

“ Of course I do,” said East ; “ I hate him still. 
What then ? ” 

“Well, when I came to take the Sacrament, I had a 
great struggle about that. I tried to put him out of my 
head ; and when I couldn’t do that, I tried to think of 
him as evil, as something that the Lord who was loving 
me hated, and which I might hate too. But it wouldn’t 
do. I broke down : I believe Christ himself broke me 
down ; and when the Doctor gave me the bread and wine, 
374 


East’s Dilemmas and Deliverances 

and leaned over me praying, I prayed for poor Flashman, 
as if it had been you or Arthur/’ 

East buried his face in his hands on the table. Tom 
could feel the table tremble. At last he looked up, 
“Thank you again, Tom,” said he; “you don’t know 
what you may have done for me to-night. I think I see 
now how the right sort of sympathy with poor devils is 
got at.” 

“ And you’ll stop the Sacrament next time, won’t 
you ? ” said Tom. 

“Can I, before I’m confirmed?” 

“ Go and ask the Doctor.” 

“ I will.” 

That very night, after prayers. East followed the 
Doctor and the old Verger bearing the candle, upstairs. 
Tom watched, and saw the Doctor turn round when he 
heard footsteps following him closer than usual, and say, 
“ Hah, East ! Do you want to speak with me, my man?” 

“If you please, sir”; and the private door closed 
and Tom went to his study in a state of great trouble of 
mind. 

It was almost an hour before East came back: then 
he rushed in breathless. 

“ Well, it’s all right,” he shouted, seizing Tom by the 
hand. “ I feel as if a ton-weight were off my mind.” 

“ Hurra,” said Tom. “ I knew it would be ; but tell 
us all about it ? ” 

“ Well, I just told him all about it. You can’t think 
how kind and gentle he was, the great grim man, whom 
375 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

IVe feared more than anybody on earth. When I stuck, 
he lifted me, just as if I had been a little child. And he 
seemed to know all Fd felt, and to have gone through it 
all. And I burst out crying — more than I’ve done this 
five years ; and he sat down by me, and stroked my 
head ; and I went blundering on, and told him all ; 
much worse things than I’ve told you. And he wasn’t 
shocked a bit, and didn’t snub me, or tell me I was a 
fool, and it was all nothing but pride or wickedness, 
though I dare say it was. And he didn’t tell me not to 
follow out my thoughts, and he didn’t give me any cut- 
and-dried explanation. But when I’d done he just talked 
a bit — I can hardly remember' what he said yet ; but it 
seemed to spread round me like healing, and strength, 
and light ; and to bear me up, and plant me on a rock, 
where I could hold my footing, and fight for myself. I 
don’t know what to do, I feel so happy. And it’s all 
owing to you, dear old boy ! ” and he seized Tom’s hand 
again. 

“ And you’re to come to the Communion ? ” said 
Tom. 

Yes, and to be confirmed in the holidays.” 

Tom’s delight was as great as his friend’s. But he 
hadn’t yet had out all his own talk, and was bent on 
improving the occasion : so he proceeded to propound 
Arthur’s theory about not being sorry for his friends’ 
deaths, which he had hitherto kept in the background, 
and by which he was much exercised ; for he didn’t feel 
it honest to take what pleased him and throw over the 
37b 


East’s Dilemmas and Deliverances 


rest, and was trying vigorously to persuade himself that 
he should like all his best friends to die off-hand. 

But East’s powers of remaining serious were ex- 
hausted, and in five minutes he was saying the most 
ridiculous things he could think of, till Tom was almost 
getting angry again. 

Despite of himself, however, he couldn’t help laugh- 
ing and giving it up, when East appealed to him with 
‘‘Well, Tom, you ain’t going to punch my head, I 
hope, because I insist upon being sorry when you get to 
earth ? ” 

And so their talk finished for that time, and they 
tried to learn first lesson ; with very poor success, as 
appeared next morning, when they were called up and 
narrowly escaped being floored, which ill-luck, however, 
did not sit heavily on either of their souls. 




377 


CHAPTER VIII 

TOM brown’s last MATCH 


“ Heaven grant the manlier heart, that timely^ ere 
Youth fly, with life’s real tempest would be coping ; 

The fruit of dreamy hoping 
Is, waking, blank despair.” 

— Clough. Ambarvalia. 

T he curtain now rises upon the last act of our 
little drama — for hard-hearted publishers warn 
me that a single volume must of necessity have 
• an end. Well, well! the pleasantest things must come 
to an end. I little thought last long vacation, when' I 
began these pages to help while away some spare time at 
a watering-place, how vividly many an old scene, which 
had lain hid away for years in some dusty old corner of 
my brain, would come back again, and stand before me 
as clear and bright as if it had happened yesterday. 
The book has been a most grateful task to me, and I 
only hope that all you, my dear young friends who read it 
(friends assuredly you must be, if you get as far as this), 
will be half as sorry to come to the last stage as I am'. 

Not but what there has been a solemn and a sad side 
to it. As the old scenes became living, and the actors in 
them became living too, many a grave in the Crimea and 
distant India, as well as in the quiet churchyards of our 
dear old country, seemed to open and send forth their 

378 


Tom Brown’s Last Match 

dead, and their voices and looks and ways were again in 
one's ears and eyes, as in the old school days. But this 
was not sad ; how should it be, if we believe as our Lord 
has taught us ? How should it be, when, one more turn 
of the wheel, and we shall be by their sides again, learning 
from them again, perhaps, as we did when we were new 
boys ? 

Then there were others of the old faces so dear to us 
once, who had somehow or another just gone clean out of 
sight — are they dead or living? We know not; but the 
thought of them brings no sadness with it. Wherever 
they are, we can well believe they are doing God's work 
and getting His wages. 

But are there not some, whom we still see sometimes 
in the streets, whose haunts and homes we know, whom 
we could probably find almost any day in the week if we 
were set to do it, yet from whom we are really farther than 
we are from the dead, and from those who have gone out 
of our ken? Yes, there are and must be such; and 
therein lies the sadness of old School memories. Yet of 
these our old comrades, from whom more than time and 
space separate us, there are some, by whose sides we can 
feel sure that we shall stand again when time shall be no 
more. We may think of one another now as dangerous 
fanatics or narrow bigots with whom no truce is possible, 
from whom we shall only sever more and more to the end 
of our lives, whom it would be our respective duties to 
imprison or hang, if we had the power. We must go our 
way, and they theirs, as long as flesh and spirit hold to- 
379 


Tom Brown’s School Days 


gether; but let our own Rugby poet speak words of heal- 
ing for this trial : 

“ To veer how vain ! on, onward strain, 

Brave barks! in light, in darkness too; 

Through winds and tides one compass guides. 

To that, and your own selves, be true. 

“ But, O blithe breeze! and O great seas! 

Though ne’er that earliest parting past. 

On your wide plain they join again. 

Together lead them home at last. 

“ One port, methought, alike they sought. 

One purpose hold where’er they fare. 

O bounding breeze ! O rushing seas ! 

At last, at last, unite them there.” 

— Clough. Ambarvalia. 

This is not mere longing, it is prophecy. So over 
these two, our old friends who are friends no more, we 
sorrow not as men without hope. It is only for those 
who seem to us to have lost compass and purpose, and to 
be driven helplessly on rocks and quicksands ; whose 
lives are spent in the service of the world, the flesh, and 
the devil ; for self alone, and not for their fellow-men, 
their country, or their God, that we must mourn and 
pray without sure hope and without light ; trusting only 
that He, in whose hands they as well as we are, who has 
died for them a swell as for us, who sees all His creatures 

” With larger, other eyes than ours. 

To make allowance for us all,” 

will, in His own way and at His own time, lead them also 
home. 

• •••» .... 

Another two years have passed, and it is again the end 

380 


Tom Brown’s Last Match 


of the summer half-year at Rugby ; in fact, the School 
has broken up. The fifth-form examinations were over 
last week, and upon them have followed the Speeches, and 
the sixth-form examinations for Exhibitions ; and they 
too are over now. The boys have gone to all the winds of 
heaven, except the town boys and the eleven, and the few 
enthusiasts besides who have asked leave to stay in their 
houses to see the result of the cricket matches. For this 
year the Wellesburn return match and the Marylebone 
match are played at Rugby, to the great delight of the 
town and neighborhood, and the sorrow of those aspiring 
young cricketers who have been reckoning for the last 
three months on showing off at Lord’s ground. 

The Doctor started for the Lakes yesterday morning, 
after an interview with the captain of the eleven, in the 
presence of Thomas, at which he arranged in what School 
the cricket dinners were to be, and all other matters neces- 
sary for the satisfactory carrying out of the festivities ; and 
warned them as to keeping all spirituous liquors out of 
the close, and having the gates closed by nine o’clock. 

The Wellesburn match was played out with great 
success yesterday, the School winning by three wickets ; 
and to-day the great event of the cricketing year, the 
Marylebone match, is being played. What a match it 
has been ! The London eleven came down by an after- 
noon train yesterday, in time to see the end of the Welles- 
burn match ; and as soon as it was over, their leading 
men and umpire inspected the ground, criticising it rather 
unmercifully. The Captain of the School eleven, and 

381 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

one or two others, who had played the Lord’s match be- 
fore, and knew old Mr. Aislabie and several of the Lord’s 
men, accompanied them : while the rest of the eleven 
looked on from under the Three Trees with admiring 
eyes, and asked one another the names of the illustrious 
strangers, and recounted how many runs each of them 
had made in the late matches in Bell's Life. They looked 
such hard-bitten, wiry, whiskered fellows, that their young 
adversaries felt rather desponding as to the result of the 
morrow’s match. The ground was at last chosen, and 
two men set to work upon it to water and roll ; and then, 
there being yet some half-hour of daylight, some one had 
suggested a dance on the turf. The close was half full 
of citizens and their families, and the idea was hailed with 
enthusiasm. The cornopean player was still on the 
ground ; in five minutes the eleven and half-a-dozen of 
the Wellesburn and Marylebone men got partners some- 
how or another, and a merry country dance was going 
on, to which every one flocked, and new couples joined 
in every minute, till there were a hundred of them going 
down the middle and up again — and the long line of 
School buildings looked gravely down on them, every 
window glowing with the last rays of the western sun, and 
the rooks clanged about in the tops of the old elms, 
greatly excited, and resolved on having their country 
dance too, and the great flag flapped lazily in the gentle 
western breeze. Altogether it was a sight which would 
have made glad the heart of our brave old founder, 
Lawrence Sheriff, if he were half as good a fellow as I 
382 


Tom Brown’s Last Match 


take him to have been. It was a cheerful sight to see ; 
but what made it so valuable in the sight of the Captain 
of the School eleven was, that he there saw his young 
hands shaking olf their shyness and awe of the Lord’s 
men, as they crossed hands and capered about on the 
grass together ; for the strangers entered into it all, and 
threw away their cigars, and danced and shouted like 
boys ; while old Mr. Aislabie stood by looking on in his 
white hat, leaning on a bat, in benevolent enjoyment. 
“ This hop will be worth thirty runs to us to-morrow, 
and will be the making of Raggles and Johnson,” thinks 
the young leader, as he revolves many things in his mind, 
standing by the side of Mr. Aislabie, whom he will not 
leave for a minute, for he feels that the character of the 
School for courtesy is resting on his shoulders. 

But when a quarter to nine struck, and he saw old 
Thomas beginning to fidget about with the keys in his 
hand, he thought of the Doctor’s parting monition, and 
stopped the cornopean at once, notwithstanding the loud- 
voiced remonstrances from all sides ; and the crowd 
scattered away from the close, the eleven all going into 
the School-house, where supper and beds were provided 
for them by the Doctor’s orders. 

Deep had been the consultations at supper as to the 
order of going in, who should bowl the first over, whether 
it would be best to play steady or freely ; and the 
youngest hands declared that they shouldn’t be a bit ner- 
vous, and praised their opponents as the jolliest fellows 
in the world, except perhaps their old friends the Welles^ 

383 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

burn men. How far a little good-nature from their 
elders will go with the right sort of boys ! 

The morning had dawned bright and warm, to the 
intense relief of many an anxious youngster, up betimes 
to mark the signs of the weather. The eleven went down 
in a body before breakfast, for a plunge in the cold bath 
in the corner of the close. The ground was in splendid 
order, and soon after ten o’clock, before spectators had 
arrived, all was ready, and two of the Lord’s men took 
their places at the wicket ; the School, with the usual 
liberality of young hands, having put their adversaries in 
first. Old Bailey stepped up to the wicket, and called 
play, and the match has begun. 

‘‘ Oh, well bowled ! well bowled, Johnson ! ” cries the 
captain, catching up the ball and sending it high above 
the rook trees, while the third Marylebone man walks 
away from the wicket, and old Bailey gravely sets up the 
middle stump again and puts the bails on. 

‘‘ How many runs ? ” Away scamper three boys to 
the scoring table, and are back again in a minute among 
the rest of the eleven, who are collected together in a 
knot between wickets. “ Only eighteen runs, and three 
wickets down ! ” “ Huzza for old Rugby ! ” sings out 

Jack Raggles the long-stop, toughest and burliest of boys, 
commonly called “ Swiper Jack”; and forthwith stands 
on his head, and brandishes his legs in the air in triumph, 
till the next boy catches hold of his heels, and throws 
him over on to his back. 


384 


Tom Brown’s Last Match 


“ Steady there, don’t be such an ass, Jack,” says the 
captain ; “ we haven’t got the best wicket yet. Ah, look 
out now at cover-point,” adds he, as he sees a long- 
armed, bare-headed, slashing-looking player coming to 
the wicket. And, Jack, mind your hits ; he steals more 
runs than any man in England.” 

And they all find that they have got their work to do 
now : the new-comer’s ofF-hitting is tremendous, and his 
running like a flash of lightning. He is never in his 
ground, except when his wicket is down. Nothing in the 
whole game so trying to boys ; he has stolen three byes 
in the first ten minutes, and Jack Raggles is furious, and 
begins throwing over savagely to the further wicket, 
until he is sternly stopped by the captain. It is all that 
young gentleman can do to keep his team steady, but he 
knows that everything depends on it, and faces his work 
bravely. The score creeps up to fifty, the boys begin to 
look blank, and the spectators, who are now mustering 
strong, are very silent. The ball flies off his bat to all 
parts of the field, and he gives no rest and no catches to 
any one. But cricket is full of glorious chances, and the 
goddess who presides over it loves to bring down the 
most skilful players. Johnson, the young bowler, is 
getting wild, and bowls a ball almost wide to the off ; the 
batter steps out and cuts it beautifully to where cover- 
point is standing very deep, in fact almost off the 
ground. The ball comes skimming and twisting along 
about three feet from the ground ; he rushes at it, and it 
sticks somehow or other in the fingers of his left hand, to 

385 


Vol. 16— M 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

the utter astonishment of himself and the whole field. 
Such a catch hasn't been made in the close for years, and 
the cheering is maddening. “ Pretty cricket," says the 
captain, throwing himself on the ground by the deserted 
wicket with a long breath ; he feels that a crisis has 
passed. 

I wish I had space to describe the whole match ; how 
the captain stumped the next man off a leg-shooter, and 
bowled slow lobs to old Mr. Aislabie, who came in for 
the last wicket. How the Lord's men were out by half- 
past twelve o'clock for ninety-eight runs. How the 
Captain of the School eleven went in first to give his men 
pluck, and scored twenty-five in beautiful style ; how 
Rugby was only four behind in the first innings. What 
a glorious dinner they had in the fourth-form School, 
and how the cover-point hitter sang the most topping 
comic songs, and old Mr. Aislabie made the best 
speeches that ever were heard, afterward. But I haven't 
space, that's the fact, and so you must fancy it all, and carry 
yourselves on to half-past seven o'clock, when the School 
are again in, with five wickets down and only thirty-two 
runs to make to win. The Marylebone men played 
carelessly in their second innings, but they are working 
like horses now to save the match. 

There is much healthy, hearty, happy life scattered 
up and down the close ; but the group to which I beg to 
call your especial attention is there, on the slope of the 
island, which looks toward the cricket-ground. It con- 
sists of three figures ; two are seated on a bench, and one 
386 


Tom Brown’s Last Match 


on the ground at their feet. The first, a tall, slight, and 
rather gaunt man with a bushy eyebrow and a dry 
humorous smile, is evidently a clergyman. He is care- 
lessly dressed, and looks rather used up, which isn't 
much to be wondered at, seeing that he has just finished 
six weeks of examination work ; but there he basks, and 
spreads himself out in the evening sun, bent on enjoying 
life, though he doesn’t quite know what to do with his 
arms and legs. Surely it is our friend the young master, 
whom we have had glimpses of before, but his face has 
gained a great deal since we last came across him. 

And by his side, in white flannel shirt and trousers, 
straw hat, the captain’s belt, and the untanned yellow 
cricket shoes which all the eleven wear, sits a strapping 
figure near six feet high, with ruddy tanned face and 
whiskers, curly brown hair and a l^ghing dancing eye. 
He is leaning forward with his elbows resting on his 
knees, and dandling his favorite bat, with which he has 
made thirty or forty runs to-day, in his strong brown 
hands. It is Tom Brown, grown into a young man 
nineteen years old, a praepostor and captain of the eleven, 
spending his last day as a Rugby boy, and let us hope 
as much wiser as he is bigger since we last had the pleas- 
ure of coming across him. 

And at their feet on the warm dry ground, similarly 
dressed, sits Arthur, Turkish fashion, with his bat 
across his knees. He too is no longer a boy, less of a 
boy in fact than Tom, if one may judge from the 
thoughtfulness of his face, which is somewhat paler too 
3^7 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

than one could wish ; but his figure, though slight, is well 
knit and active, and all his old timidity has disappeared, 
and is replaced by silent quaint fun, with which his face 
twinkles all over, as he listens to the broken talk between 
the other two, in which he joins every now and then. 

All three are watching the game eagerly, and joining 
in the cheering which follows every good hit. It is 
pleasing to see the easy, friendly footing which the pupils 
are on with their master, perfectly respectful, yet with no 
reserve and nothing forced in their intercourse. Tom 
has clearly abandoned the old theory of natural ene- 
mies,” in this case at any rate. 

But it is time to listen to what they are saying, and 
see what we can gather out of it. 

“ I don't object to your theory,” says the master, 
‘‘ and I allow you have made a fair case for yourself. 
But now, in such books as Aristophanes for instance, 
you've been reading a play this half with the Doctor, 
haven't you ? ” 

“Yes, the Knights,” answered Tom. 

“ Well, I'm sure you would have enjoyed the wonder- 
ful humor of it twice as much if you had taken more 
pains with your scholarship.” 

“Well, sir, I don't believe any boy in the form en- 
joyed the sets-to between Cleon and the Sausage-seller 
more than I did — eh, Arthur? ” said Tom, giving him a 
stir with his foot. 

“Yes, I must say he did,” said Arthur. “I think, 
sir, you've hit upon the wrong book there.” 

388 


Tom Brown’s Last Match 


“Not a bit of it/’ said the master. “ Why, in those 
very passages of arms, how can you thoroughly appre- 
ciate them unless you are master of the weapons ? and 
the weapons are the language, which you. Brown, have 
never half worked at ; and so, as I say, you must have 
lost all the delicate shades of meaning which make the 
best part of the fun.” 

“ Oh ! well played — bravo, Johnson ! ” shouted Ar- 
thur, dropping his bat and clapping furiously, and Tom 
joined in with a “ Bravo, Johnson ! ” which might have 
been heard at the chapel. 

“ Eh ! what was it ? I didn’t see,” inquired the mas- 
ter ; “ they only got one run, I thought ? ” 

“No, but such a ball, three-quarters length and com- 
ing straight for his leg bail. Nothing but that turn of 
the wrist could have saved him, and he drew it away to 
leg for a safe one. Bravo, Johnson ! ” 

“ How well they are bowling, though,” said Arthur; 
“ they don’t mean to be beat, I can see.” 

“ There now,” struck in the master, “ you see that’s 
just what I have been preaching this half-hour. The 
delicate play is the true thing. I don’t understand cricket, 
so I don’t enjoy those fine draws which you tell me are 
the best play, though when you or Raggles hit a ball 
hard away for six I am as delighted as any one. Don’t 
you see the analogy ? ” 

“ Yes, sir,” answered Tom, looking up roguishly, “ I 
see; only the question remains whether I should have 
got most good by understanding Greek particles or cricket 

389 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

thoroughly. Tm such a thick, I never should have had 
time for both.” 

‘‘ I see you are an incorrigible,” said the master with 
a chuckle ; “ but I refute you by an example. Arthur 
there has taken in Greek and cricket too.” 

‘‘ Yes, but no thanks to him ; Greek came natural to 
him. Why, when he first came I remember he used to 
read Herodotus for pleasure as I did Don Quixote, and 
couldn’t have made a false concord if he’d tried ever so 
hard — and then I looked after his cricket.” 

Out ! Bailey has given him out — do you see, 
Tom?” cries Arthur. “How foolish of them to run 
so hard.” 

“ Well, it can’t be helped, he has played very well. 
Whose turn is it to go in ? ” 

“ I don’t know ; they’ve got your list in the tent.” 

“Let’s go and see,” said Tom, rising; but at this 
moment Jack Raggles and two or three more came run- 
ning to the island moat. 

“ Oh, Brown, mayn’t I go in next ? ” shouts the 
Swiper. 

“ Whose name is next on the list ? ” says the Captain. 

“ Winter’s, and then Arthur’s,” answers the boy 
who carries it ; “ but there are only twenty-six runs to 
get, and no time to lose. I heard Mr. Aislabie say 
that the stumps must be drawn at a quarter past eight 
exactly.” 

“ O, do let the Swiper go in,” chorus the boys : so 
Tom yields against his better judgment. 

390 


Tom Brown’s Last Match 


“ I dare say now I’ve lost the match by this nonsense,” 
he says, as he sits down again ; “ they’ll be sure to get 
Jack’s wicket in three or four minutes ; however, you’ll 
have the chance, sir, of seeing a hard hit or two,” adds 
he, smiling, and turning to the master. 

“Come, none of your irony. Brown,” answers the 
master. “ I’m beginning to understand the game scien- 
tifically. What a noble game it is too ! ” 

“ Isn’t it ? But it’s more than a game. It’s an insti- 
tution,” said Tom. 

“ Yes,” said Arthur, “ the birthright of British boys, 
old and young, as habeas corpus and trial by jury are of 
British men.” 

“ The discipline and reliance on one another which it 
teaches is so valuable, I think,” went on the master, “ it 
ought to be such an unselfish game. It merges the indi- 
vidual in the eleven ; he doesn’t play that he may win, 
but that his side may.” 

“ That’s very true, ” said Tom, “ and that’s why foot- 
ball and cricket, now one comes to think of it, are such 
much better games than fives’ or hare-and-hounds, or any 
others where the object is to come in first or to win for 
oneself, and not that one’s side may win.” 

“ And then the captain of the eleven ! ” said the 
master, “ what a post is his in our School-world ! almost 
as hard as the Doctor’s ; requiring skill and gentleness 
and firmness, and I know not what other rare qualities.” 

“Which don’t he wish he may get?” said Tom, 
laughing ; “ at any rate he hasn’t got them yet, or he 

391 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

wouldn't have been such a flat to-night as to let Jack 
Raggles go in out of his turn.” 

Ah ! the Doctor never would have done that,” said 
Arthur, demurely. “Tom, you've a great deal to learn 
yet in the art of ruling.'' 

“Well, I wish you'd tell the Doctor so, then, and 
get him to let me stop till I'm twenty. I don't want to 
leave. I'm sure.'' 

“ What a sight it is,'' broke in the master, “ the 
Doctor as a ruler. Perhaps ours is the only little corner 
of the British Empire which is thoroughly, wisely, and 
strongly ruled just now. I'm more and more thankful 
every day of my life that I came here to be under him.'' 

“ So am I, I'm sure,” said Tom ; “ and more and more 
sorry that I've got to leave.” 

“ Every place and thing one sees here reminds one of 
some wise act of his,” went on the master. “This island 
now — you remember the time. Brown, when it was laid 
out in small gardens, and cultivated by frost-bitten fags 
in February and March?” 

“Of course I do,” said Tom; “didn't I hate spend- 
ing two hours in the afternoons grubbing in the tough 
dirt with the stump of a fives' bat ? But turf-cart was 
good fun enough.” 

“ I dare say it was, but it was always leading to fights 
with the townspeople ; and then the stealing flowers out 
of all the gardens in Rugby for the Easter show was 
abominable.” 

“Well, so it was,” said Tom, looking down, “but 

392 


Tom Brown’s Last Match 


we fags couldn’t help ourselves. But what has that to 
do with the Doctor’s ruling ? ” 

“ A great deal, I think,” said the master ; what 
brought island fagging to an end ? ” 

“ Why, the Easter speeches were put off till Mid- 
summer,” said Tom, ‘^and the sixth had the gymnastic 
poles put up here.” 

Well, and who changed the time of the speeches, 
and put the idea of gymnastic poles into the heads of 
their worships the sixth form ? ” said the master. 

‘^The Doctor, I suppose,” said Tom. I never 
thought of that.” 

‘‘ Of course you didn’t,” said the master, or else, 
fag as you were, you would have shouted with the whole 
school against putting down old customs. And that’s 
the way that all the Doctor’s reforms have been carried 
out when he has been left to himself — quietly and natu- 
rally, putting a good thing in the place of a bad, and letting 
the bad die out; no wavering and no hurry — the best 
thing that could be done for the time being, and patience 
for the rest.” 

Just Tom’s own way,” chimed in Arthur, nudging 
Tom with his elbow, “ driving a nail where it will go ” ; 
to which allusion Tom answered by a sly kick. 

“ Exactly so,” said the master, innocent of the allu- 
sion and by-play. 

Meantime Jack Raggles, with his sleeves tucked up 
above his great brown elbows, scorning pads and gloves, 
has presented himself at the wicket ; and having run one 
393 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

for a forward drive of Johnson’s, is about to receive his 
first ball. There are only twenty-four runs to make, and 
four wickets to go down ; a winning match if they play 
decently steady. The ball is a very swift one, and rises 
fast, catching Jack on the outside of the thigh, and bound- 
ing away as if from india-rubber, while they run two for 
a leg-bye amid great applause, and shouts from Jack’s 
many admirers. The next ball is a beautifully pitched 
ball for the outer stump, which the reckless and unfeeling 
Jack catches hold of, and hits right round to leg for five, 
while the applause becomes deafening : only seventeen 
runs to get with four wickets — the game is all but ours ! 

It is ‘^over” now, and Jack walks swaggering about 
his wicket, with the bat over his shoulder, while Mr. 
Aislabie holds a short parley with his men. Then the 
cover-point hitter, that cunning man, goes on to bowl 
slow twisters. Jack waves his hand triumphantly toward 
the tent, as much as to say, “ See if I don’t finish it all 
off now in three hits.” 

Alas, my son Jack ! the enemy is too old for thee. 
The first ball of the over Jack steps out and meets, 
swiping with all his force. If he had only allowed for 
the twist ! but he hasn’t, and so the ball goes spinning 
up straight into the air, as if it would never come down 
again. Away runs Jack, shouting and trusting to the 
chapter of accidents, but the bowler runs steadily under 
it, judging every spin, and calling out “ I have it,” catches 
it, and playfully pitches it on to the back of the stalwart 
Jack, who is departing with a rueful countenance. 

394 


Tom Brown’s Last Match 

“ I knew how it would be,” says Tom, rising. “ Come 
along, the game’s getting very serious.” 

So they leave the island and go to the tent, and after 
deep consultation Arthur is sent in, and goes off to the 
wicket with a last exhortation from Tom to play steady 
and keep his bat straight. To the suggestions that 
Winter is the best bat left, Tom only replies, “Arthur is 
the steadiest, and Johnson will make the runs if the 
wicket is only kept up.” 

“ I am surprised to see Arthur in the eleven,” said 
the master, as they stood together in front of the dense 
crowd, which was now closing in round the ground. 

“ Well, Tm not quite sure that he ought to be in for 
his play,” said Tom, “but I couldn’t help putting him 
in. It will do him so much good, and you can’t think 
what I owe him.” 

The master smiled. The clock strikes eight, and the 
whole field becomes fevered with excitement. Arthur, 
after two narrow escapes, scores one; and Johnson gets 
the ball. The bowling and fielding are superb, and John- 
son’s batting worthy the occasion. He makes here a two, 
and there a one, managing to keep the ball to himself, 
and Arthur backs up and runs perfectly : only eleven 
runs to make now, and the crowd scarcely breathe. At 
last Arthur gets the ball again, and actually drives it for- 
ward for two, and feels prouder than when he got the 
three best prizes, at hearing Tom’s shout of joy, “Well 
played, well played, young ’un ! ” 

But the next ball is too much for a young hand, and 

395 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

his bails fly different ways. Nine runs to make, and two 
wickets to go down — it is too much for human nerves. 

Before Winter can get in, the omnibus which is to 
take the Lord’s men to the train pulls up at the side of 
the close, and Mr. Aislabie and Tom consult, and give 
out that the stumps will be drawn after the next over. 
And so ends the great match. Winter and Johnson 
carry out their bats, and, it being a one day’s match, the 
Lord’s men are declared the winners, they having scored 
the most in the first inning. 

But such a defeat is a victory: so think Tom and all 
the School eleven, as they accompany their conquerors 
to the omnibus, and send them off with three ringing 
cheers, after Mr. Aislabie has shaken hands all round, 
saying to Tom, I must compliment you, sir, on your 
eleven, and I hope we shall have you for a member if 
you come up to town.” 

As Tom and the rest of the eleven were turning back 
into the close, and everybody was beginning to cry out 
for another country-dance, encouraged by the success of 
the night before, the young master, who was just leaving 
the close, stopped him, and asked him to come up to tea 
at half-past-eight, adding, “ I won’t keep you more than 
half an hour, and ask Arthur to come up too.” 

I’ll come up with you directly, if you’ll let me,” 
said Tom, ‘Tor I feel rather melancholy, and not quite 
up to the country-dance and supper with the rest.” 

“Do by all means,” said the master; “ I’ll wait here 
for you.” 


39b 


Tom Brown’s Last Match 


So Tom went off and got his boots and things from 
the tent, to tell Arthur of the invitation, and to speak to 
his second in command about stopping the dancing and 
shutting up the close as soon as it grew dusk. Arthur 
promised to follow as soon as he had had a dance. So 
Tom handed his things over to the man in charge of the 
tent, and walked quietly away to the gate where the mas- 
ter was waiting, and the two took their way together up the 
Hillmorton road. 

Of course they found the master's house locked up, 
and all the servants away in the close, about this time no 
doubt footing it away on the grass with extreme delight 
to themselves, and in utter oblivion of the unfortunate 
bachelor their master, whose one enjoyment in the shape 
of meals was his “dish of tea" (as our grandmothers 
called it) in the evening; and the phrase was apt in his 
case, for he always poured his out into the saucer before 
drinking. Great was the good man’s horror at finding 
himself shut out of his own house. Had he been alone, 
he would have treated it as a matter of course, and would 
have strolled contentedly up and down his gravel walk 
until some one came home; but he was hurt at the stain 
on his character of host, especially as the guest was a pu- 
pil. However, the guest seemed to think it a great joke, 
and presently as they poked about round the house, 
mounted a wall, from which he could reach a passage 
window : the window, as it turned out, was not bolted, so 
in another minute Tom was in the house and down at the 
front door, which he opened from inside. The master 
397 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

chuckled grimly at this burglarious entry, and insisted 
on leaving the hall door and two of the front windows 
open, to frighten the truants on their return ; and then 
the two set about foraging for tea, in which operation the 
master was much at fault, having the faintest possible idea 
of where to find anything, and being moreover wondrously 
short-sighted; but Tom by a sort of instinct knew the 
right cupboards in the kitchen and pantry, and soon man- 
aged to place on the snuggery table better materials for a 
meal than had appeared there probably during the reign 
of his tutor, who was then and there initiated, among 
other things, into the excellence of that mysterious con- 
diment, a dripping-cake. The cake was newly baked, and 
all rich and flaky; Tom had found it reposing in the 
cook’s private cupboard, awaiting her return ; and as a 
warning to her, they finished it to the last crumb. The 
kettle sang away merrily on the hob of the snuggery, for, 
notwithstanding the time of year, they lighted a fire, 
throwing both windows wide open at the same time. The 
heap of books and papers were pushed away to the other 
end of the table, and the great solitary engraving of 
King’s College Chapel over the mantelpiece looked less 
stiff than usual, as they settled themselves down in the 
twilight to the serious drinking of tea. 

After some talk on the match, and other indifferent 
subjects, the conversation came naturally back to Tom’s 
approaching departure, over which he began again to 
make his moan. 

“Well, we shall all miss you quite as much as you 

398 


Tom Brown’s Last Match 


wil miss us,” said the master. ‘‘You are the Nestor of 
theiSchool now, are you not ? ” 

V Yes, ever since East left,” answered Tom. 

‘\By the bye, have you heard from him ? ” 

“^es, I had a letter in February, just before he started 
for India to join his regiment.” 

“ He will make a capital officer.” 

“ Aye, won’t he ! ” said Tom, brightening ; “ no fellow 
could handle boys better, and I suppose soldiers are very 
like boys. And he’ll never tell them to go where he 
won’t go himself. No mistake about that — a braver 
fellow never walked.” 

“ His year in the sixth will have taught him a good 
deal that will be useful to him now.” 

“ So it will,” said Tom, staring into the fire. “ Poor 
dear Harry,” he went on, “ how well I remember the day 
we were put out of the twenty. How he rose to the 
situation, and burnt his cigar-cases, and gave away his 
pistols, and pondered on the constitutional authority of 
the sixth, and his new duties to the Doctor, and the fifth 
form, and the fags. Aye, and no fellow ever acted up 
to them better, though he was always a people’s man — 
the fags, and against constituted authorities. He 
couldn’t help that, you know. I’m sure the Doctor 
must have liked him ? ” said Tom, looking up inquir- 
ingly. 

“ The Doctor sees the good in every one, and appre- 
ciates it,” said the master, dogmatically ; “ but I hope 
East will get a good colonel. He won’t do if he can’t 
399 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

respect those above him. How long it took him, even 
here, to learn the lesson of obeying.” 

‘‘Well, I wish I were alongside of him,” said Tom. 
“ If I can’t be at Rugby, I want to be at work ;n the 
world, and not dawdling away three years at Oxford.” 

“ What do you mean by ‘ at work in the world ? ’ ” 
said the master, pausing, with his lips close to his saucer- 
ful of tea, and peering at Tom over it. 

“ Well, I mean real work ; one’s profession ; whatever 
one will have really to do, and make one’s living by. I 
want to be doing some real good, feeling that I am not 
only at play in the world,” answered Tom, rather puzzled 
to find out himself what he really did mean. 

“You are mixing up two very different things in your 
head, I think. Brown,” said the master, putting down the 
empty saucer, “ and you ought to get clear about them. 
You talk of ‘working to get your living,’ and ‘doing 
some real good in the world,’ in the same breath. Now, 
you may be getting a very good living in a profession, 
and yet doing no good at all in the world, but quite the 
contrary, at the same time. Keep the latter before you 
as your only object, and you will be right, whether you 
make a living or not ; but if you dwell on the other, 
you’ll very likely drop into mere money-making, and let 
the world take care of itself for good or evil. Don’t be 
in a hurry about finding your work in the world for your- 
self; you are not old enough to judge for yourself yet, 
but just look about you in the place you find yourself in, 
and try to make things a little better and honester there. 

400 


Tom Brown’s Last Match 


You’ll find plenty to keep your hand in at Oxford, or 
wherever else you go. And don’t be led away to think 
this part of the world important, and that unimportant. 
Every corner of the world is important. No man knows 
whether this part or that is most so, but every man may 
do some honest work in his own corner.” And then the 
good man went on to talk wisely to Tom of the sort of 
work which he might take up as an undergraduate ; and 
warned him of the prevalent University sins, and ex- 
plained to him the many and great differences between 
University and School life ; till the twilight changed into 
darkness, and they heard the truant servants stealing in 
by the back entrance. 

I wonder where Arthur can be,” said Tom at last, 
looking at his watch : “ why, it’s nearly half-past nine 
already.” 

Oh, he is comfortably at supper with the eleven, 
forgetful of his oldest friends,” said the master. Nothing 
has given me greater pleasure,” he went on, than your 
friendship for him ; it has been the making of you both.” 

“ Of me, at any rate,” answered Tom ; “ I should 
never have been here now but for him. It was the luck- 
iest chance in the world that sent him to Rugby, and 
made him my chum.” 

“ Why do you talk of lucky chances ? ” said the 
master ; I don’t know that there are any such things in 
the world ; at any rate there was neither luck nor chance 
in that matter.” 

Tom looked at him inquiringly, and he went on. 

401 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

Do you remember when the Doctor lectured you and 
East at the end of one half-year, when you were in the 
shell, and had been getting into all sorts of scrapes ? ” 

‘‘ Yes, well enough,” said Tom ; it was the half-year 
before Arthur came.” 

‘‘ Exactly so,” answered the master. Now, I was 
with him a few minutes afterward, and he was in great 
distress about you two. And, after some talk, we both 
agreed that you in particular wanted some object in the 
School beyond games and mischief ; for it was quite clear 
that you never would make the regular school work your 
first object. And so the Doctor, at the beginning of the 
next half-year, looked out the best of the new boys, and 
separated you and East, and put the young boy into your 
study, in the hope that when you had somebody to lean 
on you, you would begin to stand a little steadier your- 
self, and get manliness and thoughtfulness. And I can 
assure you he has watched the experiment ever since with 
great satisfaction. Ah ! not one of you boys will ever 
know the anxiety you have given him, or the care with 
which he has watched over every step in your school 
lives.” 

Up to this time, Tom had never wholly given in to 
or understood the Doctor. At first he had thoroughly 
feared him. For some years, as I have tried to show, he 
had learned to regard him with love and respect, and to 
think him a very great and wise and good man. But, as 
regarded his own position in the School, of which he was 
no little proud, Tom had no idea of giving any one credit 
402 


Tom Brown’s Last Match 


for it but himself ; and, truth to tell, was a very self- 
conceited young gentleman on the subject. He was wont 
to boast that he had fought his own way fairly up the 
school, and had never made up to, or been taken up by 
any big fellow or master, and that it was now quite a 
different place from what it was when he first came. And, 
indeed, though he didn't actually boast of it, yet in his 
secret soul he did to a great extent believe, that the great 
reform in the School had been owing quite as much to 
himself as to any one else. Arthur, he acknowledged, 
had done him good, and taught him a good deal ; so had 
other boys in different ways, but they had not had the 
same means of influence on the School in general ; and 
as for the Doctor, why, he was a splendid master, but 
every one knew that masters could do very little out of 
school hours. In short, he felt on terms of equality with 
his chief, so far as the social state of the School was con- 
cerned, and thought that the Doctor would find it no easy 
matter to get on without him. Moreover, his school 
Toryism was still strong, and he looked still with some 
jealousy on the Doctor, as somewhat of a fanatic in the 
matter of change ; and thought it very desirable for the 
School that he should have some wise person (such as 
himself) to look sharply after vested School-rights, and 
see that nothing was done to the injury of the republic 
without due protest. 

It was a new light to him to find, that, besides teach- 
ing the sixth, and governing and guiding the whole 
School, editing classics, and writing histories, the great 

403 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

Head-master had found time in those busy years to watch 
over the career even of him, Tom Brown, and his par- 
ticular friends — and, no doubt, of fifty other boys at the 
same time ; and all this without taking the least credit to 
himself, or seeming to know, or let any one else know, 
that he ever thought particularly of any boys at all. 

However, the Doctor’s victory was complete from 
that moment over Tom Brown at any rate. He gave 
way at all points, and the enemy marched right over him, 
cavalry, infantry, and artillery, the land transport corps, 
and the camp followers. It had taken eight long years 
to do it, but now it was done thoroughly, and there 
wasn’t a corner of him left which didn’t believe in the 
Doctor. Had he returned to school again, and the 
Doctor begun the half-year by abolishing fagging, and 
football, and the Saturday half-holiday, or all or any of 
the most cherished school institutions, Tom would have 
supported him with the blindest faith. And so, after a 
half confession of his previous shortcomings, and sorrow- 
ful adieus to his tutor, from whom he received two 
beautifully bound volumes of the Doctor’s Sermons, as a 
parting present, he marched down to the School-house, 
a hero worshipper, who would have satisfied the soul of 
Thomas Carlyle himself. 

There he found the eleven at high jinks after supper. 
Jack Ruggles shouting comic songs and performing feats 
of strength ; and was greeted by a chorus of mingled 
remonstrance at his desertion, and joy at his reappearance. 
And falling in with the humor of the evening, was soon 

404 


Tom Brown’s Last Match 


as great a boy as all the rest; and at ten o’clock was 
chaired round the quadrangle, on one of the hall benches, 
borne aloft by the eleven, shouting in chorus, ‘‘ For 
he’s a jolly good fellow,” while old Thomas, in a melt- 
ing mood, and the other School-house servants, stood 
looking on. 

And the next morning after breakfast he squared up 
all the cricketing accounts, went round to his tradesmen 
and other acquaintance, and said his hearty good-bys, 
and by twelve o’clock was in the train, and away for 
London, no longer a schoolboy ; and divided in his 
thoughts between hero-worship, honest regrets over the 
long stage of his life which was now slipping out of sight 
behind him, and hopes and resolves for the next stage, 
upon which he was entering with all the confidence of a 
young traveller. 


405 


CHAPTER IX 


FINIS 

“ Strange friend, past, present, and to be ; 

Loved deeplier, darklier understood ; 

Behold, I dream a dream of good, 

And mingle all the world with thee.” 

—Tennyson 

I N the summer of 1842, our hero stopped once again 
at the well-known station : and, leaving his bag 
and fishing-rod with a porter, walked slowly and 
sadly up toward the town. It was now July. He had 
rushed away from Oxford the moment that term was 
over, for a fishing ramble in Scotland with two college 
friends, and had been for three weeks living on oatcake, 
mutton-hams, and whiskey, in the wildest parts of Skye. 
They had descended one sultry evening on the little inn 
at Kyle Rhea ferry, and while Tom and another of the 
party put their tackle together and began exploring the 
stream for a sea-trout for supper, the third strolled into 
the house to arrange for their entertainment. Presently 
he came out in a loose blouse and slippers, a short pipe 
in his mouth, and an old newspaper in his hand, and 
threw himself on the heathery scrub which met the shingle, 
within easy hail of the fishermen. There he lay, the 
picture of free-and-easy, loafing, hand-to-mouth young 
406 


Finis 


England, improving his mind,” as he shouted to them, 
by the perusal of the fortnight-old weekly paper, soiled 
with the marks of toddy-glasses and tobacco-ashes, the 
legacy of the last traveller, which he had hunted out from 
the kitchen of the little hostelry ; and being a youth of 
a communicative turn of mind, began imparting the con- 
tent to the fishermen as he went on. 

‘‘ What a bother they are making about these wretched 
Corn-laws ; here’s three or four columns full of nothing 
but sliding-scales and fixed duties. — Hang this tobacco, 
it’s always going out ! — Ah, here’s something better— a 
splendid match between Kent and England, Brown ! 
Kent winning by three wickets. Felix fifty-six runs with- 
out a chance, and not out ! ” 

Tom, intent on a fish which had risen at him twice, 
answered only with a grunt. 

“ Anything about the Goodwood ? ” called out the 
third man. 

‘‘ Rory-o-More drawn. Butterfly colt amiss,” shouted 
the student. 

“Just my luck,” grumbled the inquirer, jerking his 
flies off the water, and throwing again with a heavy sullen 
splash, and frightening Tom’s fish. 

“I say, can’t you throw lighter over there? We 
ain’t fishing for grampuses,” shouted Tom across the 
stream. 

“ Hullo, Brown ! here’s something for you,” called 
out the reading man next moment. “Why, your old 
master, Arnold of Rugby, is dead.” 

407 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

Tom’s hand stopped half-way in his cast, and his 
line and flies went all tangling round and round his 
rod ; you might have knocked him over with a feather. 
Neither of his companions took any notice of him luckily ; 
and with a violent effort he set to work mechanically to 
disentangle his line. He felt completely carried off his 
moral and intellectual legs, as if he had lost his standing- 
point in the invisible world. Besides which, the deep 
loving loyalty which he felt for his old leader made the 
shock intensely painful. It was the first great wrench of 
his life, the first gap which the angel Death had made in 
his circle, and he felt numbed, and beaten down, and 
spiritless. Well, well ! I believe it was good for him and 
for many others in like case ; who had to learn by that 
loss, that the soul of man cannot stand or lean upon 
any human prop, however strong, and wise, and good ; 
but that He upon whom alone it can stand and lean will 
knock away all such props in His own wise and merciful 
way, until there is no ground or stay left but Himself, the 
Rock of Ages, upon whom alone a sure foundation for 
every soul of man is laid. 

As he wearily labored at his line, the thought struck 
him, It may all be false, a mere newspaper lie,” and he 
strode up to the recumbent smoker. 

‘‘ Let me look at the paper,” said he. 

“Nothing else in it,” answered the other, handing it 
up to him listlessly. — “ Hullo, Brown ! what’s the matter, 
old fellow — ain’t you well ? ” 

“Where is it?” said Tom, turning over the leaves, 
408 


Finis 

his hands trembling, and his eyes swimming, so that he 
could not read. 

‘‘ What ? What are you looking for ? said his 
friend, jumping up and looking over his shoulder. 

“That — about Arnold/* said Tom. 

“ Oh, here,** said the other, putting his finger on the 
paragraph. Tom read it over and over again; there 
could be no mistake of identity, though the account was 
short enough. 

“ Thank you,** said he at last, dropping the paper. 
“ I shall go for a walk : don*t you and Herbert wait 
supper for me.*’ And away he strode, up over the moor 
at the back of the house, to be alone, and master his 
grief if possible. 

His friend looked after him, sympathizing and won- 
dering, and, knocking the ashes out of his pipe, walked 
over to Herbert. After a short parley, they walked 
together up to the house. 

“ I’m afraid that confounded newspaper has spoiled 
Brown’s fun for this trip.” 

“ How odd that he should be so fond of his old 
master,” said Herbert. Yet they also were both public- 
school men. 

The two, however, notwithstanding Tom’s prohibi- 
tion, waited supper for him, and had everything ready 
when he came back some half-an-hour afterward. But 
he could not join in their cheerful talk, and the party 
was soon silent, notwithstanding the efforts of all three. 
One thing only had Tom resolved, and that was, that 
409 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

he couldn’t stay in Scotland any longer ; he felt an irre- 
sistible longing to get to Rugby, and then home, and 
soon broke it to the others, who had too much tact to 
oppose. 

So by daylight the next morning he was marching 
through Ross-shire, and in the evening hit the Cale- 
donian canal, took the next steamer, and travelled as fast 
as boat and railway could carry him to the Rugby station. 

As he walked up to the town, he felt shy and afraid 
of being seen, and took the back streets ; why, he didn’t 
know, but he followed his instinct. At the school gates 
he made a dead pause ; there was not a soul in the quad- 
rangle — all was lonely, and silent, and sad. So with 
another effort he strode through the quadrangle, and into 
the School-house offices. 

He found the little matron in her room in deep 
mourning ; shook her hand, tried to talk, and moved 
nervously about : she was evidently thinking of the same 
subject as he, but he couldn’t begin talking. 

“Where shall I find Thomas?” said he at last, 
getting desperate. 

“ In the servants’ hall, I think, sir. But won’t you 
take anything ? ” said the matron, looking rather dis- 
appointed. 

“No, thank you,” said he, and strode off again to 
find the old Verger, who was sitting in his little den as 
of old, puzzling over hieroglyphics. 

He looked up through his spectacles, as Tom seized 
his hand and wrung it. 


410 


Finis 


‘‘ Ah ! you’ve heard all about it, sir, I see,” said he. 

Tom nodded, and then sat down on the shoe-board, 
while the old man told his tale, and wiped his spectacles, 
and fairly flowed over with quaint, homely, honest sorrow. 

By the time he had done, Tom felt much better. 

‘‘ Where is he buried, Thomas ? ” said he at last. 

‘‘Under the altar in the chapel, sir,” answered Thomas. 
“You’d like to have the key, I dare say.” 

“Thank you, Thomas — Yes, I should very much.” 
And the old man fumbled among his bunch, and then 
got up, as though he would go with him ; but after a few 
steps stopped short, and said, “ Perhaps you’d like to go 
by yourself, sir ? ” 

Tom nodded, and the bunch of keys were handed to 
him, with an injunction to be sure and lock the door after 
him, and bring them back before eight o’clock. 

He walked quickly through the quadrangle and out 
into the close. The longing which had been upon him 
and driven him thus far, like the gad-fly in the Greek 
legends, giving him no rest in mind or body, seemed all 
of a sudden not to be satisfied, but to shrivel up, and 
pall. “ Why should I go on ? It’s no use,” he thought, 
and threw himself at full length on the turf, and looked 
vaguely and listlessly at all the well-known objects. 
There were a few of the town boys playing cricket, their 
wicket pitched on the best piece in the middle of the 
big-side ground, a sin about equal to sacrilege in the eyes 
of a captain of the eleven. He was very nearly getting 
up to go and send them off. “ Pshaw ! they won’t re- 
411 


I 


Tom Brown’s School Days 


member me. TheyVe more right there than I,” he 
muttered. And the thought that his sceptre had de- 
parted, and his mark was wearing out, came home to him 
for the first time, and bitterly enough. He was lying on 
the very spot where the fights came off ; where he him- 
self had fought six years ago his first and last battle. 
He conjured up the scene till he could almost hear the 
shouts of the ring, and East’s whisper in his ear ; and 
looking across the close to the Doctor’s private door, 
half expected so see it open, and the tall figure in cap 
and gown come striding under the elm trees toward 
him. 

No, no ! that sight could never be seen again. 
There was no flag flying on the round tower ! the School- 
house windows were all shuttered up : and when the flag 
went up again, and the shutters came down, it would be 
to welcome a stranger. All that was left on earth of him 
whom he had honored, was lying cold and still under the 
chapel floor. He would go in and see the place once 
more, and then leave it once for all. New men and new 
methods might do for other people ; let those who would 
worship the rising star ; he at least would be faithful to the 
sun which had set. And so he got up and walked to the 
chapel door and unlocked it, fancying himself the only 
mourner in all the broad land, and feeding on his own 
selfish sorrow. 

He passed through the vestibule, and then paused for 
a moment to glance over the empty benches. His heart 
was still proud and high, and he walked up to the seat 
412 


Finis 


which he had last occupied as a sixth-form boy, and sat 
himself down there to collect his thoughts. 

And, truth to tell, they needed collecting and setting 
in order not a little. The memories of eight years were all 
dancing through his brain, and carrying him about whither 
they would ; while beneath them all, his heart was throb- 
bing with the dull sense of a loss that could never be 
made up to him. The rays of the evening sun came 
solemnly through the painted windows above his 
head, and fell in gorgeous colors on the opposite wall, 
and the perfect stillness soothed his spirit by little and 
little. And he turned to the pulpit, and looked at it, 
and then, leaning forward with his head on his hands, 
groaned aloud. ‘‘ If he could only have seen the Doctor 
again for one five minutes ; have told him all that was in 
his heart, what he owed to him, how he loved and rever- 
enced him, and would by God’s help follow his steps in 
life and death, he could have borne it all without a mur- 
mur. But that he should have gone away forever with- 
out knowing it all, was too much to bear.” “ But am 

I sure that he does not know it all ? ” — the thought made 
him start — “ May he not even now be near me, in this 
very chapel ? If he be, am I sorrowing as he would have 
me sorrow — as I should wish to have sorrowed when I 
shall meet him again ? ” 

He raised himself up and looked around ; and after 
a minute rose and walked humbly down to the lowest 
bench, and sat down on the very seat which he had oc- 
cupied on his first Sunday at Rugby. And then the old 

413 


Tom Brown’s School Days 

memories rushed back again, but softened and subdued, 
and soothing him as he let himself be carried away by 
them. And he looked up at the great painted window 
above the altar, and remembered how when a little boy 
he used to try not to look through it at the elm-trees 
and the rooks, before the painted glass came — and the sub- 
scription for the painted glass, and the letter he wrote 
home for money to give to it. And there, down below, 
was the very name of the boy who sat on his right hand 
on that first day, scratched rudely in the oak paneling. 

And then came the thought of all his old school- 
fellows ; and form after form of boys, nobler, and braver, 
and purer than he, rose up and seemed to rebuke him. 
Could he not think of them, and what they had felt and 
were feeling, they who had honored and loved from the 
first, the man whom he had taken years to know and 
love ? Could he not think of those yet dearer to him 
who was gone, who bore his name and shared his blood, 
and were now without a husband or a father ? Then the 
grief which he began to share with others became gentle 
and holy, and he rose up once more, and walked up the 
steps to the altar ; and while the tears flowed freely down 
his cheeks, knelt down humbly and hopefully, to lay 
down there his share of a burden which had proved itself 
too heavy for him to bear in his own strength. 

Here let us leave him — where better could we leave 
him, than at the altar, before which he had first caught 
a glimpse of the glory of his birthright, and felt the draw- 
ing of the bond which links all living souls together in 
414 


Finis 


one brotherhood — at the grave beneath the altar of him, 
who had opened his eyes to see that glory, and softened 
his heart till it could feel that bond? 

And let us not be hard on him, if at that moment 
his soul is fuller of the tomb and him who lies there, 
than of the altar and Him of whom it speaks. Such 
stages have to be gone through, I believe, by all young 
and brave souls, who must win their way through hero- 
worship, to the worship of Him who is the King and 
Lord of heroes. For it is only through our mysterious 
human relationships, through the love and tenderness 
and purity of mothers, and sisters, and wives, through 
the strength and courage and wisdom of fathers, and 
brothers, and teachers, that we can come to the knowl- 
ledge of Him, in whom alone the love, and the tender- 
ness, and the purity, and the strength, and the courage, 
and the wisdom of all these dwell for ever and ever in 
perfect fulness. 


THE END 


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